


Time Will Turn and Tell

by runthegamut (orphan_account)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:57:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/runthegamut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After starting college six hours away from Mikey, Patrick finds maintaining a long-distance relationship more challenging than he expected.  Things are complicated when Patrick has to compete with Gabe for Mikey’s attention.   At least one of his classmates, Brendon, is there to keep him company. A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/721241">The Best Things Come From Nowhere</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Will Turn and Tell

Patrick knelt on his bed as he held the poster up to the wall, carefully trying to gauge whether the top was parallel with the ceiling. As he unstuck his fingers from the sticky tack -- “No tape, no thumbtacks,” the dorm rules read – he smoothed his hands over the image of Elvis Costello and pressed it firmly against the wall. He scooted back slightly to assess his workmanship, careful not to move back too far and fall the six feet down to the floor. He and his roommate -- Adam Siska(although everyone but his parents were calling him Sisky) -- had opted to "loft" their beds so they could keep their desks underneath and have more space in their cramped dorm room.

"Lookin' good," Sisky said from behind Patrick where he had been busy unpacking his clothes into the built-in drawers that occupied the eastern wall of the room.

Patrick glanced back over his shoulder and gave him an embarrassed smile before twisting around so his legs were dangling from the bed. “Thanks,” he said with a nod, remembering the boxes of clothing, towels, videos, and books that were still stacked up underneath his bed. “Had to get the posters up first. Priorities.” He swung his legs out once and hopped down to the floor as Sisky went back to the business of moving in.

“Well, as a music major, you need to stake out your territory, right? Throw up some posters to broadcast to everyone who enters our room how awesome your taste in music is?” Sisky had his chin tucked against his chest, pinning the shirt he was folding before tossing it into the drawer. “What’s more important than that?”

Pulling open a small box that sat on top of the rest, Patrick pulled out a framed photo. “Just one thing,” he said quietly, setting it on his desk. He dropped into the chair and looked at it a long moment before beginning to unpack the rest of his belongings.

Sisky took the five steps to cross over to Patrick’s side of the room and ducked down to get a look at the photo. “Best friend?” he asked.

“Boyfriend,” Patrick replied quietly, his eyes still focused on the picture of Mikey, whose mouth in the picture was half quirked in a goofy smile like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

Sisky leaned in closer to get a better look and after a minute, nodded his head approvingly. “Cool,” he said, turning to give Patrick a smile before returning to his unpacking.

***

The summer after graduating high school had been the best of Patrick’s life. He and Mikey had continued working at the grocery store, but since their hours were still part time and they didn’t have to attend school, they had plenty of time to spend with each other. With Patrick going to a small, private college with a reputable music composition program and Mikey attending college six hours away at a mid-sized state university, they needed to make the most of their time together.

Leaving had been difficult. Mikey didn’t have a car to take to college and being so far apart, their weekends together would be limited. They discussed the possibility of breaking things off before they left for school, but neither of them wanted that. Even if long distance relationships were difficult, they were both game to at least try. With email and phone and text contact, it didn’t seem that farfetched that they could make things work.

***

That night, Patrick had called Mikey at 9 p.m., as planned. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the phone listening to the electronic beep of a ring once, twice—

“Hey,” Mikey answered, and Patrick could hear him smiling. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Patrick replied, his chest feeling hollow and aching at the sound of Mikey’s voice in his ear, so close and distant at the same time. “Did you get all moved in? What’s your roommate like?” He cast a glance down to the floor where Sisky sat in a beanbag, engrossed in a game of Grand Theft Auto.

“Eh, I’m like. Halfway unpacked. I’ve got the important stuff put away - my CDs and movies. And I’ve located a towel and the box with my underwear. I should be good.”

Patrick snorted. “Oh, so you’re going to go to class in nothing but underwear? That’s nice. I’m sure you’ll be very popular. Instead of the naked guy on campus you’ll be the boxer guy.”

“Hey, I don’t actually have to leave my dorm room until Monday morning,” Mikey replied, sounding amused. “Actually, more like late Monday morning. I didn’t schedule my first class until 11. I’ve got plenty of time to find my clothes.”

“Well, alright then,” Patrick sighed, smiling. “I just hope your roommate’s cool with you being half naked until then. What’s his name again? Adam?” At the sound of his name, Sisky turned his head to look up at Patrick who waved him off.

“Yeah, Adam. He’s a cool guy,” Mikey replied without hesitating. “He’s out right now, visiting some friend in another dorm. How about yours? Isn’t his name Adam, too?”

Patrick laughed, glancing back down at his roommate. “Yeah, but everyone calls him Sisky, so that’ll help us to not get confused about who we’re talking about.” With the mention of his name, Sisky turned again and grinned.

“Dude,” he interrupted. “Do you want me to leave the room so you can talk about me?” It was obvious by his tone he was joking, but he got up anyway, pausing his game.

“Hey, no—“ Patrick pushed himself up on his elbow mumbling, “Just a second,” to Mikey. “It’s cool, dude. You don’t have to leave or anything.”

Sisky flashed Patrick a wide smile as he headed out the door, holding up a hand and shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s good. I’ll let you have some alone time with your guy. I’m just gonna go check in on some of my buddies,” he explained, giving a wave of his hand as he headed out the door.

Lifting the phone from where he’d buried it against his chest, Patrick said, “Sorry ‘bout that. Sisky decided to go out and give us some ‘alone’ time. He’s cool, you’d like him. He brought an Xbox. He was playing Halo earlier.”

“Score,” Mikey answered. “He has good taste _and_ he left us alone for a bit.” There was a brief pause before Mikey asked, “Are you going to touch yourself?”

“What?” Patrick sputtered, half laughing. “ _Wow_ , Mikey. You don’t waste any time. I see where your mind goes immediately.”

“Oh, come on. Like you haven’t thought about the logistics of trying to jerk off when you have a roommate? You’re used to having a room to yourself and now you don’t. Plus you won’t have me around to, uh, keep you company. So. You’re going to need to get acquainted with your hand again.”

Patrick blushed in spite of himself. He had given it some consideration, and given the communal nature of the showers and bathrooms in the dorm, there wasn’t a whole lot of room for privacy. “Well, you’re alone. Are _you_ going to touch yourself?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of Mikey letting out a slow breath. “Who’s saying I’m not already?” he asked in a low, teasing voice.

“Jesus, you’re serious,” Patrick said in shock. His statement was met with a soft gasp on Mikey’s end and Patrick tucked his phone against his shoulder as he used both hands to undo his belt buckle and pop the fly of his jeans, already feeling a familiar ache in his stomach.

He had one hand shoved down his pants, the other clasping the phone to his ear as he strained to hear any noise Mikey might make when the door to the room flung open without warning. Patrick rolled onto his side so his back was facing the door, carefully pulling his hand from his pants as Sisky walked back into the room.

“Forgot my phone,” he said to the air as he walked over to his desk to retrieve it.

Patrick chanced a look over his shoulder and noticed his roommate wasn’t so much as glancing in his direction. “Uh, okay. Cool,” he stammered in reply before the door swung closed again.

“Fuck,” Patrick groaned, rolling onto his back again. “I almost got caught with my hand in my pants.” His heart was racing and his cheeks were flushed.

Mikey was laughing, soft and fond, through the speaker of the phone. “Maybe you should lock the door so next time you have some warning,” he suggested.

“Fuck. Yes,” Patrick agreed, pushing himself up and climbing down the ladder to their loft. He bounded the few steps to the door, twisted the lock, and then scurried back up the ladder to resume his position on the mattress. “Are you naked?” he asked, one thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans as he considered whether to take them off or not.

“No,” Mikey replied, his voice low again. “But my pants are pushed down, if that’s what you mean.”

Patrick could visualize him there, lying on a foreign bed with his cock in one hand, phone in the other. Without giving it a second thought, Patrick pushed his jeans and underwear down to match the visual. He was already hard just from the thought of Mikey jerking himself off over the phone, his cock resting flat and heavy against his belly.

“Mikey,” Patrick whispered as his thumb circled the head of his cock to spread the pre-come before pushing his fist over himself a moment later. He could hear Mikey on the other end, shaky uneven breaths and the soft slide of skin against skin. He thought of their last time together, Mikey’s cock in his hand as he pushed inside Mikey.

Patrick stroked himself hard and fast, not making an attempt to draw it out. Mikey didn’t either, if the sounds he was making were any indication. He heard Mikey say a strained, “fuck,” and Patrick felt the ache in his stomach settle deeper. A few more strokes and he was coming hot in his hand.

They laid in silence for a minute, breaths coming heavy. With a groan, Patrick reached back to find a box of tissues to clean himself up with. When he was finished, he pulled his pants up, buttoning them closed but leaving his belt undone.

“Well, that sure took away some of the stress from moving,” he tried to joke, but a wave of sadness washed over him as he came to the realization that this was the most intimate he’d be able to get with Mikey for the foreseeable future, save for breaks in school and an odd weekend back home. He pulled one of his pillows to his chest, wrapping one arm around it as a poor substitute for Mikey. “I miss you,” he said softly, the words dying out in his mouth.

“I miss you, too,” Mikey echoed, his voice quiet, and tired, and sad.

***

The dorm food that Patrick had been repeatedly warned against turned out to be much better than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t as good as a home-cooked meal, of course, but it was far superior to the lunches he’d endured at public school; it was a fact he was thankful for, given the high price he was paying for his boarding plan.

Still, he wasn’t too sad to skip out on an institutional meal in favor of a cookout the music department was having – a mixer for incoming freshman to meet each other and their professors. In spite of the hot August weather, Patrick pulled on a hoodie and donned a hat before setting out across campus to the music building.

As he reached the other side of campus, Patrick slowed down, seeing a crowd of kids his age huddled together on the lawn adjoining the music hall and auditorium. People were milling about, awkwardly shaking hands while trying to juggle Styrofoam plates and drinks. Some of the students were hanging on the outskirts, steadfastly avoiding eye contact while trying to eat their burger with one hand. Patrick felt that same reluctance at meeting new people, even ones who’d likely have a lot in common with him, having majored in the same field of study.

He stopped at a card table that served as a makeshift sign-in area, staffed by a perky blonde whose name tag announced, “Hello! My name is Summer!” Patrick gave her a weak smile and bent down to print his own name on one of the name tags before hastily slapping it on his chest. She pointed him over to the food line and he made his way over, grabbing a plate and napkin before shuffling along to get his choice of burger or bratworst, a bag of chips, and a chocolate chip cookie.

Bending over into a cooler, Patrick’s hand grabbed for the last can of grape soda at the same time as another, darker hand. He immediately let go, as did the other person, and stood up, blinking against the sunlight as he tried to make out the stranger across from him.

Standing on the other side of the cooler was a lean guy a bit taller than him, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was smiling wide at Patrick and Patrick was taken aback by the brightness of his smile.

“Um,” he managed.

“Looks like that’s the last one,” the guy, whose name tag read ‘Brendon,’ helpfully supplied. “Guess we’re going to have to duke it out for it.”

“Um,” Patrick started again. “No, it’s okay. You can—“

“Aw, man! Don’t tell me you’re just going to surrender the last grape soda over like that. Come on!” He was still smiling wide and it made Patrick feel uncomfortable. “A can of grape soda is something to be fought over! I’m Brendon, by the way.” Brendon leaned forward, studying Patrick’s name tag. “And you’re Patrick,” he continued, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick stared down at Brendon’s hand for a moment before registering that he was supposed to shake it. He wiped his right hand, wet from the ice in the cooler, on the back of his jeans and took Brendon’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you,” he replied before his eyes darted down to the cooler once more in an attempt to avoid Brendon’s unceasing smile. “So, how did you want to do this?” he asked, nodding to the soda. “Like, thumb war? Or rock, paper, scissor?”

“I was thinking dance off,” Brendon replied, bending down to snatch up the grape soda and then moving out of the way of another student who’d ambled up to get a drink. Noticing the blank look on Patrick’s face, he laughed loud and then handed the soda over. “Nah, I’m kidding. I already had one and was just coming back for a second. It’s all yours, man.”

Patrick’s mouth quirked up as he took the soda over from Brendon, giving a quick nod. “Thanks.” He could feel his face go warm under the hot afternoon sun and he raised the hand that held the can over his head, pushing the bill of his cap down with his forearm. Brendon bent down to grab himself a can of Coke and Patrick watched, uncertain as to whether he should walk away or stay. “Uh, so you’re a music major, too, I guess?” he asked, unable to come up with a better conversation starter.

If Brendon picked up on Patrick’s awkwardness, he didn’t let on. “Yep,” he said happily as he stood up and rejoined Patrick, turning so they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the rest of the students gathered. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to declare as a major yet, though. I don’t know if I want to specialize in performance or theory and composition or just keep it general, you know?” He shrugged, cracking open his soda and taking a long drink.

Patrick looked at his can in one hand and his plate in the other before sliding his unopened drink under his arm and using his free hand to pick up his burger. “What instrument do you play?” he asked before taking a bite.

“Piano,” Brendon replied, turning in toward Patrick slightly. “Well, I can play a few instruments, but if I got a degree in performance, it would be in piano. Unless I went with voice.” He turned his head to the side and raised his shoulder slightly, like he was still considering. “I have no idea what I want to do, really,” he added with a laugh. “How about you?”

Patrick swallowed his second bite of food as he nodded to show he’d been listening attentively. “Oh, uh, I’m going to major in composition and theory. I play drums and a little guitar and stuff, but yeah. I’m not really too interested in performing myself.”

“A drummer, huh? That’s cool. You play with other people, even if you don’t want to do performance, right?” Brendon raised his eyebrows in question as he tilted up his chin to take a quick drink of his Coke.

Patrick gave a quick shrug and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I like to throw ideas off other people and stuff.”

“Well, we’ll have to do that sometime,” Brendon suggested. “You know, since you owe me and all for giving you the last grape soda.”

Patrick laughed as he took his last bite of his burger, stepping over to the garbage to rid himself of the cumbersome Styrofoam plate as he pocketed his cookie and opened his bag of chips. Since Brendon mentioned the soda, he dislodged it from its place under his arm and cracked it open, taking a drink to wash down the remains of his burger. “You said you’d already had one,” Patrick reminded him as he gestured with the can.

“Yeah,” Brendon sighed. “But I could have had _two_. Lucky for you, I’m a sucker. You owe me a jam session so I can pick your drummer brain. I just hope your taste in music is as stellar as your taste in carbonated beverages.”

“Sucker for what?” Patrick wondered. Before Brendon could answer, the department head stepped into the middle of the gathering, calling everyone around to hear his remarks and welcome them to the school. When he was finished, Patrick had an empty bag of chips and was draining the last drink from his soda.

“It was nice to meet you, Patrick,” Brendon said as they turned to part ways. “I’m sure I’ll see you around the music building if we don’t have classes together.”

Patrick nodded, adjusting his cap. “You, too, Brendon. I’ll look for you.”

As he walked back to his dorm alone, Patrick ate his cookie one small bite at a time, walking slowly as he admired the various sculptures and buildings on campus. He sat at the edge of a fountain and watched the spray of water in the center cause ripples in the calm water at the ends. He dipped his finger in the water, drawing a slow line through it as he tried to remember everything that he’d seen and heard that day so he could share it with Mikey.

***

Patrick was hunched over his desk, staring at the pages of his history text and not focusing on a word. His eyes had glazed over about twenty minutes earlier when he was just halfway through the chapter. Now they darted from the jumble of words on the page to his clock every few minutes, watching the minutes tick away until it was 9 o’clock.

The familiar strains of Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” chimed on his phone at the designated time, and Patrick didn’t even glance at the display before answering.

“Hey,” he said, unable to help but grin as he answered the call. “How was your first official day of classes?”

Mikey made a tired sound in reply. “Exhausting,” he sighed. “Did you know I’m actually expected to drag myself out of bed every morning to get to class by 11 a.m.? For math, of all things. It’s madness. Who the hell made this schedule, anyway?”

“You?” Patrick ventured, chuckling under his breath.

“Oh, right,” Mikey replied, smiling by the sound of his voice.

“Also?” Patrick chimed in. “11 isn’t early. At all. I have class at 8, so I have no idea what you’re complaining about.”

Mikey made a sympathetic noise. “Gerard told me not to schedule any of my classes before 10. Now I’m wondering how the hell I ever managed to drag my ass out of bed so early for four years of high school. Or the eight years before that.”

Patrick bit down on his lip, smiling as he looked at Mikey’s picture grinning back at him. “Uh, probably because your mother got you out of bed every morning? No offense, man, but your mom can be kind of scary. She has, like, talons instead of fingernails.”

“Donna does know how to get it done,” Mikey replied. “How about you? How are your classes?”

Patrick shrugged even though Mikey couldn’t see him, tossing a pen onto his book as he leaned back in his chair. “Eh, I didn’t have anything too exciting today. Just history and sociology and a biology class. Tomorrow I have two music classes, so hopefully that’ll be awesome. Did you have any classes in your major or just your gen ed stuff?”

“Nope. Just gen ed. And those classes are so big, I don’t think anyone would notice or care if I didn’t show up. It’s not much incentive to get up when my alarm clock is beeping at 10:30.”

“Dude, seriously? You get up thirty minutes before class starts? Your campus is kind of huge. Doesn’t it take you like twenty minutes to get to some of those buildings?”

Mikey snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not dressing to impress or anything. I just pulled on a sweatshirt and made sure my hair wasn’t sticking up completely and brushed my teeth. It doesn’t take long.”

“That pretty much sounds like your hairstyle, yeah,” Patrick teased. “Which I, personally, find hot.” He dropped his voice at the end of the sentence, glancing back to see Sisky flipping through pages of a textbook.

“Oh, really…” Mikey paused for a moment. “You alone?”

“No,” Patrick sighed, thinking about their last phone conversation. “Also, you’re a pervert.”

“And you love me,” Mikey supplied. “It’s cool. I’m not alone either. I was going to talk you through it if you were, but we can do that some other time.”

Patrick felt himself flushing at the idea. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely take a rain check on that. Although it would be better if you were…” He paused, not wanting to say “jerking off, too” with his roommate around. Instead, he waived his hand and added, “You know.”

“It would be better if I were there,” Mikey said, which wasn’t what Patrick was thinking, but was equally true. “Or if you were here. It sucks not being able to see you.”

Patrick felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard against it as he touched a finger against the picture frame before him. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep it light, but his voice coming out strained. “I’m looking at you right now. Your hair is a mess and you have a goofy smile on your face. And you look amazing.”

Mikey laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Yeah, I see you, too. You’ve got a David Bowie shirt on and you’re wearing a hat and standing in front of my house in what has to be the most forced pose, ever. You also look amazing,” Mikey replied, his voice affectionate, but sad. After a moment, he added, “It’s still not the same.”

“It’s really not,” Patrick said sadly. “But hey, you’re going to get your business degree and go get some awesome job so you can support me while I work through my Ph.D. and we’ll buy a small cottage house with a couple cats and in ten years, this will all be a distant memory.”

“Only twelve weeks ‘til Thanksgiving break,” Mikey answered. “And then semester break is only a few weeks after that. It won’t be that bad, right? It’ll get easier.”

“Sure,” Patrick said, even though he wasn’t convinced. “We’ll get into our classes and make some friends and talk on the phone every night and before you know it, we’ll be home with our families having turkey and playing Halo.”

“Among other things,” Mikey murmured.

“Pervert,” Patrick answered with a grin. “And yes, I most definitely do love you.”

***

In order to get a degree in music theory and composition, Patrick was required to take two semesters of applied piano. He knew how to play piano -- well enough to pass out of the introductory group piano classes. He’d taught himself, mainly for the purpose of trying out different melodies and harmonies, but his abilities weren’t as strong as his instructor would have liked and she told him he’d need to make an extra effort to catch up.

His other class in his major was Music Theory I; it was pretty basic stuff, the scales and intervals and chord formation. They were going to progress into some music analysis later in the semester, before moving on to writing diatonic harmonies. Patrick felt like he should have been annoyed about having to review the things he already knew, but the truth was, he was ecstatic to finally be in a music theory course, seeing as how his high school had nothing of the sort.

Patrick was also relieved to see one familiar face in the class, finding Brendon seated at a table in the front of the class when he walked in. Brendon must have been relieved as well, lighting up when he noticed Patrick.

“Hey! Patrick!” he grinned. “So we do have a class together.”

Patrick slid into the seat beside Brendon, pulling his textbook from his bag. “Yeah, hey. Good seeing you again.” He pulled his chair up closer to lean over the desk, twisting his body to face Brendon. “Actually, it’s kind of funny cuz I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh?” Brendon’s eyebrows went up, his eyes wider as he cocked his head slightly.

Nodding, Patrick licked his lips quickly, trying to ignore the dry feeling in his mouth. He hated asking people for favors, especially people he barely knew. “Uh, yeah. You said you were considering majoring in performance? As a pianist?” He felt a warm flush on the back of his neck.

Brendon nodded in return. “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I still haven’t decided anything, yet.”

“Oh, okay, well. The reason I was wondering was, I have to take applied piano? And I’m mostly… well, I’m self taught, I guess, so I need some work on my technique and I strungle sometimes with sight reading. I was just thinking, you know, if there was anyone I could ask for help if I needed it and I figured you’d obviously be pretty good, if you were considering a major in piano performance.”

Brendon smiled in return, his eyes downcast as he nodded. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I could probably help you out if you need it,” he replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Just let me know. Pretty easy to do, since we’re in class together, right?” Brendon raised his eyes to meet Patrick’s. “Or did you want my number?”

“Oh.” Patrick paused a second before rummaging through his backpack for a pen and his notebook. “Yeah, I guess I could write down your number. Knowing me, I’ll probably realize I need help at, like, ten o’clock the night before my lesson or something.” Flipping open to the inside cover of the notebook, he scribbled down Brendon’s name. “Uh, what is it?”

“My room number is 1-4872, but I better give you my cell phone, too, because at ten o’clock, I’m likely to still be down here in one of the practice rooms, trying to learn oboe.”

Patrick looked up and smiled, nodding because he was likely to be the same way. “Yeah, well, I could probably just track you down in the building, following the squeak of a two - reed instrument. But you can give me your number just in case.”

“What? You don’t like oboe?” Brendon asked, looking mock horrified.

“No, no!” Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that. I’m just talking about my own experience in playing around with them. Didn’t go so well,” he admitted.

“Oh, well, if you were an oboe-hater, I’d have to shun you. But since you’re not, my number’s 988-4437.”

Patrick jotted it down in his notebook before giving Brendon an appreciative smile. “Thanks, I’ll owe you twice, now.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Brendon remembered. “You _do_ owe me twice. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be collecting from you. I’ll have to come up with something good.”

Patrick cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Brendon and the front of the class where the instructor was setting up. “Uh, did you want my number in case you realize… I don’t know. That you desperately need to know…” He gestured ineffectually as he tried to think of something. “…the extended bass range Charles Mingus played on Miles Davis’s ‘Blue Moods.’”

“Oh my god, if I only had a dollar for every time that came up,” Brendon joked before taking down Patrick’s information.

***

Overall, Patrick’s general education classes weren’t as bad as he had anticipated. His history professor turned out to be a bit of a Beethoven freak and in addition to learning the events of history, they also studied the art and music for each period of history. Patrick was surprised by how much more interested he was in history than in high school, now that he could relate a timeline to musical compositions, seeing how composers were influenced by the events of their day.

Sociology wasn’t bad, but it was his first class of the day and without enough caffeine coursing through his veins to keep him fully awake, Patrick realized he was probably not getting the most out of it. He promised himself he’d to go to sleep earlier each night, but it was a hollow promise.

Biology was by far Patrick’s most crowded class. The lecture hall was expansive with seating going up in the back, almost like an auditorium. It seemed that most of the students took biology to meet the science requirement for their liberal arts degrees, probably figuring it was less complicated than chemistry or physics. Patrick actually found biology pretty interesting in high school, and would have even been inclined to study marine biology if he wasn’t so interested in music. As it was, the class was so large it precluded much interaction between the professor and students and made it easy for Patrick to zone out, tapping out beats against his desktop or scribbling chord progressions in the margins of his notebook.

Of all his classes, music theory was the one he looked forward to the most. He wished it met more often than an hour and a half every Tuesday and Thursday, and Patrick often got to class early and loitered around afterward, asking his professor questions about subjects they hadn’t yet reached. He may have had to force himself to get through his sociology text, but he would lose time with his music theory book, reading ahead into chapters they wouldn’t be reaching for weeks.

He also spent a lot of time talking to Brendon about different discoveries they’d made in their own music collections that related to what they were doing in class. It became a regular occurrence for them to trade burned CDs, excitedly proclaiming, “You _have_ to hear the way Taylor utilizes an atonal progression here” or to email a file with the note “Check out what he does with the percussion in the bridge.”

Patrick was explaining how awesome it was to finally be able to talk about that stuff with one of his peers when Mikey replied, “No,” firmly.

Patrick’s face fell, the excitement he’d felt instantly vanishing. “No?” he asked.

“Sorry, not you,” Mikey said, his voice louder in the phone now. “Gabe wandered into my room and is making sad faces at me. He’s trying to get me to go with him to some club tonight,” he added, exasperated.

It wasn’t the first time Patrick had heard Gabe’s name. This Gabe guy apparently lived just down the hall from Mikey and was often hanging around when Patrick called. “He wants you go to out to a club tonight? It’s a Wednesday,” Patrick pointed out, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah, I know,” Mikey sighed. “I told him that.”

In the distance, Patrick heard a male voice singing, “Mikey.” And then again, closer: “Miiiiiikey.”

Mikey made a small giggling noise and Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “Go away,” Mikey said, sounding amused. “I’m talking to my boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’re on the phone with Paaaaatrick?” the voice sang. “Let me talk to him! Patrick! Patrick!” the voice called, and Patrick sat rigid at his desk as he listened to the two of them cracking up on the other end of the line.

“No!” Mikey yelled through his laughter, and then the sounds of a distant struggle before Patrick could hear Mikey yelling again, farther away now.

“Is this Patrick?” a voice that presumably belonged to Gabe asked.

Patrick waited a beat, glaring at the wall. “Yes?” he replied, trying not to make his voice sound as hostile as he felt.

“Dude. You need to tell your man to stop being such a brooding homebody and go out with me. I’ve got, like, business to attend to and I need his, uh, assistance.”

Patrick’s grip tightened on the phone. “Mikey can do what he wants. I don’t order him around,” Patrick replied, his voice tight. “So if he doesn’t want to go out tonight? You should probably just take his word for it and leave him alone.” It took all his control not to add an, “Or else,” at the end, although there wasn’t much Patrick could do from 400 miles away.

For his part, Gabe seemed completely unfazed. “Yeah, but like, this is _important_. Mikey’s like my wingman, mi amigo, my homie. You know? It’s not like you’re here right now and sitting in his room missing you isn’t going to do him any good and it’s certainly not going to do _me_ any good, so he should just come along and help me out, right?”

Patrick was pretty proud of himself for not replying with, “I hate you.” “May I please speak to my boyfriend again?” he asked, as coldly as possible.

“Oh, yeah! Sure! No problem, dude. If you can convince him to come out with me, I’ll be forever in your debt.” Gabe cackled and then Mikey’s voice came over the line.

“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding resigned. “Gabe wrestled the phone away from me. He’s really good at being obnoxious when he wants to be if he thinks it’ll get him what he wants.”

“You know you love me, baby,” Patrick heard Gabe say in the background, causing Patrick to clench his jaw involuntarily.

Mikey sighed again, probably for effect, but Patrick could envision him smiling back at Gabe as he did. “So are you going to go out?” Patrick asked, glancing at the clock, which read 9:50.

“I don’t know,” Mikey mumbled, and Patrick felt his chest flare. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Then don’t,” Patrick said simply. “It’s a Wednesday, you have class in the morning, you don’t want to…”

“I guess,” Mikey said, but he sounded uncertain. After a brief pause, he added, “I should let you go so you can get back to studying. I know you have music theory tomorrow so you probably want to read ahead five more chapters. I know how you are, Mr. Stump.”

Patrick would have normally smiled at that, but he was feeling an uneasiness that made it difficult to manage any kind of levity. “Yeah,” he managed before falling silent again.

“I love you,” Mikey offered. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“Yeah,” Patrick repeated. He swallowed hard. “I love you, too.”

He hung up the phone and set it on his desk, staring at the wall for a moment while he tried to assess what had just happened. He could feel heat radiating from his face and his heart was thumping in his chest. When he turned his head, he saw Sisky looking up from his book.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Patrick looked back at the wall and blinked. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I just… it’s hard, being apart. You know? I wish he was here.”

Sisky chewed his lip for a moment and then offered Patrick a weak smile. “Yeah, long-distance relationships suck. Not that I’ve ever been in one before, so. I have no idea what I’m talking about. But I can imagine.”

Patrick looked back over at his roommate, giving him the same weak smile. “Thanks,” he said, pushing back from his desk and standing up. His body felt tense and his back hurt from hunching over his desk. He felt like he had too much energy now and he needed to walk around the room a bit to get it out.

“There’s this guy who keeps hanging around Mikey,” Patrick grumbled, snatching up some of the dirty clothes he’d left lying on the floor. “Gabe. He’s fucking obnoxious and tonight he’s trying to get Mikey to go out to some club with him. What the fuck is that about?” He hurled each item of clothing into a laundry basket, one at a time, as he spoke.

“You know what you need?” Sisky asked when Patrick was finished. He flipped his book closed and got up from his desk, flipping the television on. “You need to kill some stuff.” He held out one of the video game controllers to Patrick. “Come on, let’s kick some ass,” he offered.

Patrick gave Sisky a grateful smile as he took the controller from him, dropping to the floor. “Thanks,” he said softly before setting his jaw and preparing to destroy the entire alien race. If he envisioned every alien he encountered in the game to be Gabe, Patrick didn’t think anyone could blame him.

***

It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Patrick knew that. He had no reason to feel threatened by Gabe. Jealous, maybe, because Gabe got to spend time with Mikey when Patrick didn’t. But Mikey had never given Patrick reason not to trust him. That didn’t keep Patrick from spending the night tossing and turning.

When he stumbled into Music Theory, dark circles lining his bleary eyes, Brendon took note.

“Don’t tell me you struggled with last night’s reading,” he asked, feigning shock. “Nah, you’ve already read like half the book, so that can’t be it. Is it your applied piano class? Did you lock yourself in a practice room last night, unwilling to emerge until you’d mastered the Moonlight Sonata?” He gently poked Patrick in the arm. “You can still call me for help if you need it, you know,” he said gently.

Patrick gave Brendon a soft smile and shook his head. “No, no late night practices for me. I just couldn’t get settled in bed last night.”

“Ah,” Brendon said, raising his head in an exaggerated nod. Patrick waited for him to say something else, but his just bit his lip, looking down at his hands.

“Hey, are _you_ alright?” Patrick asked, giving Brendon a squeeze on the shoulder.

It seemed to shock him out of wherever he’d gone in his head, because when he turned back to Patrick again, his smile was wide, as always. “Yep! Just got lost in thought. I’m good. Sorry,” he added with a light laugh.

After digging through his bag a moment, Brendon procured a slim CD case and passed it over to Patrick. “Here. I put this together for you last night. It’s not really related to anything we’re studying right now. Just some tracks I like that maybe you haven’t heard before.” He gave a slight shrug and ducked his head, laughing to himself.

Patrick raised the case, his eyes skimming over the track listing. “Oh, cool,” he replied happily. “Yeah, there’s definitely artists on here I don’t know well or at all.” After having exchanged music over the past few weeks, they’d gotten fairly familiar with each other’s taste and Brendon seemed to have a knack for figuring out what music Patrick hadn’t heard. Waiving the CD at Brendon, Patrick added, “Thank you,” before dropping it into his backpack.

“No problem,” Brendon replied. His eyes shifted to where Patrick was stretching out his fingers, sore from practicing. “And seriously, call me anytime if you want to run through some stuff on the piano with me. Or, you know, for whatever.”

“Yeah, definitely will do.” Patrick cracked his knuckles before picking up his pen, leaning over the table to take notes as his professor stepped up to the podium to start class.

***

“Hey,” Mikey said when he called that night. He sounded tired and Patrick stiffened.

“Late night?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Mikey yawned into the receiver. “No, not really. Once I shooed Gabe out of the room I started reading this assignment for my economics class and it put me to sleep in, like, no time,” he admitted with a laugh. At the news Mikey hadn’t gone out to the club the night before, Patrick uncurled a fist he hadn’t even realized he’d been making. “It’s just been a long week, you know?”

Patrick did know, and he nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he answered. “Classes are starting to pick up now and between trying to keep up on my reading and locking myself away at the music building to practice piano, it’s tiring. Plus, I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“I’m sure you’re doing great in you classes,” Mikey said affectionately. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you stressed out about your piano class?”

Patrick hesitated, not sure if he should mention how irrationally upset he’d been over Gabe. “Just couldn’t get comfortable, I guess. The piano thing… I don’t know. I know I’ve improved a ton already, but I’ve still got a way to go before my midterm performance. I’ll get it down, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you could ask that guy Brendon for help,” Mikey suggested. “He’s good at piano, right? Didn’t he offer to help you?”

Patrick shifted his weight back and forth on his chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Yeah, he did. I don’t know. I don’t like to bother people or whatever. I’m sure he was just being nice in offering. What was he going to do when I asked? Say no?” Patrick let out a nervous laugh.

“I’m sure it was a genuine offer. He sounds like a nice guy, so I don’t know why he’d tell you he’d help if he didn’t mean it.”

Bowing his head, Patrick gave a half-hearted shrug. “I guess,” he said quietly. There was silence for a minute before Patrick asked how Gerard was doing, effectively changing the subject.

***

One month into his college career, Patrick had established a pretty comfortable routine. He got along well with Sisky and had made easy friendships with a few of the guys on his floor. Most of his socializing was confined to mealtimes and talking to classmates before or after lectures. He didn’t go out much, preferring to stay in and study or work in the practice rooms of the music building.

“You _sure_ you don’t want to come with?” Sisky asked him for the tenth time that night as he slipped his jacket on, the evening weather having taken on a chill in late September. “You’re seriously in danger of becoming a hermit, you know that?”

Patrick gave a roll of his eyes, chuckling lightly. “Nah, it’s alright. I should probably go back over my sociology text and fill in some of the gaps in my notes.” He turned to grab his backpack when the door to the room opened and Andy, who everyone called Butcher – Patrick would never understand college nicknames – stuck his head in.

“You ready?” he asked, looking at Sisky. “How about you, Stump? You coming?”

Patrick shook his head and started to answer when Sisky interrupted. “Dude, he wants to study. Can you believe that shit? He’d rather spend a Saturday snight with his sociology book than hang out with us.”

Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking at Sisky like he had to by lying. He turned his focus to Patrick before looking back to Sisky and then back to Patrick, the same expression in place. “No,” he said at last, walking into the room.

“No?” Patrick laughed. “What do you mean ‘no’?” Instead of answering, Butcher walked over to Patrick and grabbed his arm, tugging him from the chair. For a skinny guy, he was surprisingly strong.

“Come on, help me,” he told Sisky, as the two of them wrestled Patrick to the door. “Stop fighting! Socialization is good for you! It’s not normal to study on a Saturday night!”

“Fine, fine, fine!” Patrick relented, laughing as he pulled away from them. “I’ll go out, okay? Just. Let me get my coat and stuff. I’ll be right out.”

Butcher and Sisky gave each other a satisfied look before walking out of the room. “You’ve got two minutes,” Sisky called, looking at his watch.

Patrick snatched his jacket off the handle of his closet door and pulled it on before grabbing his phone off his desk. It was only 7, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be out so he flipped it open and tapped out a quick message to Mikey.

_Going out for coffee w/ some ppl. Might be back later than 9. Call you then._

Slipping the phone in his pocket, Patrick grabbed his keys and locked the room before joining Sisky and Butcher and a few of the other guys who lived on the floor in the hall. The coffee shop was within walking distance of campus, embedded among the bars and clubs and a pizza joint that was popular with the students. As they trudged across campus, Patrick received a message back from Mikey.

_Cool. Im going out late too so Ill just call you tomorrow afternoon. Have fun. Love you._

He frowned down at the message, but brushed off the anxious feeling that crowded his chest. It seemed hypocritical to be bothered by Mikey going out when he was going out himself. Of course, no one in his group of friends was like Gabe, either. He sent back _Love you 2_ and pushed the bad thoughts from his head.

The Daily Grind was a locally owned coffee shop that featured spacious couches and arm chairs interspersed among the tables and chairs. Everything was clustered together in groupings that made it easy for larger groups to gather together and talk or hold study groups, which accounted for its popularity. It frequently featured acoustic music acts in the evenings as well, and a small stage in the corner held a couple stools and microphones for such occasions.

After placing their orders at the counter, Patrick and his group retired to a couch and some armchairs off to the side of the coffee shop. The Daily Grind had a limited menu of vegetarian sandwiches along with the usual pastries and baked goods, and Patrick decided to indulge in a cinnamon roll to accompany his latte. He was slowly peeling off pieces of it, engrossed in conversation with his friends about their classes and professors when music began to filter through the room coming from the stage behind the couch he was seated on.

Patrick turned and looked over his shoulder to see who was playing and pause with his cup of coffee raised to his lips. His eyes settled on the figure of Brendon Urie, who was playing a small keyboard, his eyes downcast. “Oh my god,” Patrick mumbled, not even aware that the words were passing his lips as Brendon raised his head and leaned in toward the microphone, singing with his eyes closed.

“What’s the matter?” Sisky asked, turning around to see what Patrick was looking at.

“Nothing!” Patrick replied, startled. “I mean, it’s Brendon. He’s in my music theory class. I didn’t know he was going to be playing tonight. Or that he played here at all.” He furrowed his brow, wondering why Brendon had never mentioned it before.

Sisky watched Brendon for a moment and then turned toward Patrick with a lopsided smile. “Is he playing Journey?” he asked.

Patrick nodded slightly, his mug still poised beneath his lips and eyes still focused on Brendon. “Yes,” he replied, confused and amused at the same time. “Yes, he is.” The rest of the room was slowly beginning to take notice as well, conversation dying down as people turned their attention to the stage and Patrick felt a weird fluttering in his stomach.

“He’s good,” Sisky added before taking a sip of his drink.

He _was_ good. Patrick agreed, but only managed a small nod, still overcome with shock. As Brendon reached the bridge, people began to sway slightly in their seats, singing along softly. Patrick found himself mouthing the words along with them.

“Okay, imagine a guitar solo here,” Brendon said into the mic during an instrumental section, glancing up at the room with a bashful smile before ducking his head again. “Alright, now everyone!” he encouraged as he reached the chorus, and to Patrick’s surprise, the room sang, “Don’t stop believing,” enthusiastically, if off-key.

As Brendon concluded the song, Patrick turned around and set his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him before shifting on the couch to turn himself around completely, tucking his arms on to the back of the couch. The audience began clapping with a few people adding whistles and Brendon grinned in response.

“Thank you,” he said as he adjusted the height of the mic in front of him. “I figured that would get everyone’s attention.” His eyes scanned the room as he spoke, making contact with the people sitting closer to the stage. “I’m Brendon Urie and I’m your entertainment for the evening. Or I hope so, anyway. I hope you’re entertained.” Brendon raised his head and looked up toward the back of the room, his eyes passing over Patrick before doing what Patrick would characterize as a smoother version of a double take. His smile grew wider and Patrick smiled back reflexively. “This one is a newer old one,” he announced before starting in on “Tonight, Tonight.”

Patrick sat riveted throughout Brendon’s hour – long set, his eyes moving between Brendon’s hands and his face. He’d never heard Brendon sing before and his voice, when he could make it out above the chorus of audience members joining in, was good. He vaguely recalled that Brendon had mentioned possibly majoring in vocal performance, but beyond his ability to sing, Brendon had a natural charisma. There was something both easygoing and confident about him on stage, and when he smiled, it was impossible not to smile back. Patrick was both jealous and riveted at the same time.

At the end of his set, Brendon moved the stand holding the keyboard out of the way and excused himself as he got up and fussed with a guitar case that sat behind him. After a moment, he resumed his perch on the stool, an acoustic guitar balanced on his leg. He plucked the strings and adjusted the pegs before looking back up at the room and smiling. “Okay, so it’s not a sing along unless we play some Beatles, right? This is one of my favorites.”

His face went more serious as be strummed the opening bars of “Blackbird.” Brendon kept his eyes closed as his fingers expertly slid over the neck of his guitar. When he sang, his voice was gentle and lilting like he was singing a lullaby. The crowd was quieter than it had been during other songs, but no less captivated.

When he’d finished, the applause was strong and Brendon mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” into the microphone as he got up from the stool, giving a quick bow before bending down to return his guitar to the case. As conversation began to resume in the coffee shop, Patrick excused himself from his group, making his way across the room to where Brendon was gathering up his things.

“Hey,” Patrick greeted him as he approached the stage. “I had no idea you played here.”

Brendon looked up from where he was crouched on the ground, winding up a cord. “I didn’t know I was going to,” he explained as he stood, smiling down at Patrick. “The act they had scheduled cancelled at the last minute and since my roommate is one of the baristas, he recommended me to fill in.” He hopped down from the stage, giving a helpless shrug. “I thought about calling you to tell you but…” Brendon ducked his head and gave another shrug. “It was kind of last minute.”

“You should have!” Patrick insisted. “That was awesome. _You_ were awesome. I’m glad I was here to catch it. You’re like a natural up there.” Nodding his head in the direction of the counter, he asked, “Can I buy you a drink or something?”

Brendon grinned wider at the question but shook his head. “Drinks are on the house,” he explained. “Perk of the job. Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Oh. Oh, right, Right.” Patrick laughed, shaking his head. “Well, do you want to get a drink and join me? I’m here sitting with some friends over there,” he added, gesturing to the couch.

Brendon pressed his lips together and nodded as he looked between the counter and the couch where Patrick’s friends were sitting. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he agreed. “I’ll uh. Just let me get this stuff packed up and I’ll be over.”

Everyone adjusted their position to make room for Brendon as Patrick introduced him around. Brendon nodded to everyone before taking a seat between Patrick and Sisky, leaving Patrick by the arm of the couch. They talked more about the set, with Brendon explaining he’d played similar shows back home when he was in high school.

“How about playing some of your own material?” Patrick wondered. “You must write if you’re considering a major in composition and theory.”

Brendon wrinkled his nose and gave a quick shrug. “I figured it’s my first time playing here so I should play stuff that the audience could get into and enjoy. If they invite me back a few times, then maybe I’d try out some of my stuff. I’m not sure how that would sound with me performing by myself, anyway. At least when I play songs everyone knows, they can fill in the parts I’m not playing with their mind because they know how it’s supposed to sound. If I played some of my songs with only one instrument and my voice, they might just think they suck.” He gave a soft laugh. “Maybe they do suck, I don’t know.”

Patrick couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “I have a hard time believing that. You’re really talented,” he said sincerely. “You’re great in front of an audience, too. I’m jealous.” Patrick lowered his eyes for a moment as he felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyway, you should play some of your stuff for me sometime. I’ll let you know if I think it sucks.”

“Yeah? When are you going to play me some of _your_ music, huh?” Brendon elbowed Patrick in the ribs as he leaned against his side. “I see you writing in your notebooks, Patrick. You should share.”

Patrick could feel his blush spreading as Brendon pressed up against him and he looked away to hide it. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he replied before his brain could register how it would sound. “I mean—“ He dropped his head in his hand and laughed weakly.

“Wow,” Brendon laughed. “Just. _Wow._ ” When Patrick glanced up at Brendon from behind his fingers, he found Brendon’s mouth was pressed in a tight smile, his dark eyes focused on Patrick.

Easing back in against the couch, Patrick rolled his head toward Brendon and tried again. “I mean, if you play some of your songs for me, I’ll let you hear some of mine.”

Brendon found the hem of Patrick’s shirt and gave it a light tug. He looked down his nose at Patrick, still crowded into Patrick’s space. “It’s a deal,” Brendon replied and the strange fluttering feeling Patrick had felt earlier returned. Just then, Sisky leaned forward to see around Brendon and give Patrick a curious look.

“Hey!” Patrick exclaimed, taking the opportunity to change the topic of conversation. “You thought Brendon did a good job, right?” He leaned forward over his knees, his arms folded across his lap as he looked at Sisky.

Sisky raised his eyebrows and then looked over to Brendon. “Yeah, man. That was awesome,” he said, offering Brendon his hand. “You have a great voice.”

Brendon pulled back from Patrick as he turned to take Sisky’s hand. “Thank you so much.” As the two spoke, Patrick fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Seeing no new messages, his heart sank slightly.

***

Mikey called at 2 p.m. the next day as Patrick was finishing an outline of his biology chapter. Patrick had been up for several hours, but it sounded like Mikey had just awakened. 

“Late night?” he inquired, feeling uneasy.

“Too late,” Mikey replied. “It was ridiculous. We went to Quattro but Chad had too much to drink and couldn’t drive and we couldn’t all fit in Tyler’s car, so Tyler was going to drive half the group back to the dorm and then come back to get the other half. Well, he got pulled over for speeding on his way back, and even though he didn’t drink that much, they made him do the field sobriety tests. By the time he got back, Gabe was going on about how he was starving to death so we ended up at Perkins at 2:30 in the morning and…” 

Patrick raised his eyebrows as he waited for Mikey to continue. “And?” he said at last.

“Sorry,” Mikey sighed. “It was just stupid. I got home sometime after 4. I don’t even know what time it was when I finally went to bed.”

“Oh.” Patrick bounced his leg anxiously, clutching the phone tight in his grip as he listened to the silence.

“Hang on. I’m trying to email you some pictures,” Mikey explained.

“Yeah, okay.” Patrick flipped his book closed and slid it back into the shelf above his desk before pulling his computer forward and flipping it open. A moment later, a new message showed up in his email. He clicked through the various pictures as Mikey explained who everyone was. “Gabe kind of hangs all over everyone,” Patrick observed, his voice tight.

“Yeah,” Mikey replied with a laugh. “He doesn’t really have boundaries.” 

Patrick’s chest tightened as he opened a picture of Mikey sitting in a booth next to Gabe. Gabe was obviously tall and thin and if forced to comment, Patrick would begrudgingly admit he was good looking. In the picture, he was leaned far back, having slid down in his seat. His arm was slung around Mikey’s shoulders, his head cocked to the side and chin raised as he smirked knowingly at the camera. “That’s an interesting picture of you and Gabe sitting together,” Patrick said, trying to sound casual. 

“Oh,” Mikey said, laughing again. “Yeah, I can never keep my eyes open for pictures, can I? I always look like I’m asleep.”

Patrick had barely looked at Mikey in the picture, still focused on Gabe and the look in his eyes, which screamed to Patrick, “Haha I’m touching your boyfriend and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He glared back at the screen and clicked on to the next picture. 

Gabe was in nearly every picture, and most often was the center of attention. Patrick rolled his eyes and glared at him every time his smug face appeared on screen. He thought about going into Photoshop later and entertaining himself by distorting Gabe’s image. 

“So Gabe seems like the life of the party,” he said dryly when they’d finished discussing the photos.

“Pretty much,” Mikey replied quickly. “He’s the loudest and the craziest. Plus he has a single room, so people are always hanging out there.”

Patrick felt ill. “That’s awesome,” he lied. 

“So did you have fun at the coffee shop last night?”

Patrick nodded to himself. “Yeah, it was alright. It was good to get out of the room for a while and vent about classes and stuff, I guess.” He tapped the rhythm to “Don’t Stop Believing” on the edge of his desk. Clearing his throat, he added, “It turned out that Brendon was playing a set their last night, too.”

“Brendon from your music class?” Mikey asked. “Whoa, that’s a crazy coincidence. How was he?”

“Good! He’s really good. I forgot he said he was considering majoring in voice. I hadn’t realized he could sing so well. He played keyboard and guitar, too. Just covers, though. Nothing original.”

“You should do that. Play at the coffee house,” Mikey clarified. “ _You_ have a good voice. And _you_ can play guitar and piano.”

Patrick laughed uneasily. “Yeah, well, his voice is better than mine and I don’t play piano nearly as well as he does and my guitar skills are only sort of okay.”

“Patrick…” Mikey sighed. 

“No, seriously! He’s a really good performer. And I’m not just talking about the music. He’s, like, good on stage. He has a presence or whatever and I’m just. I’m not that kind of guy. I like writing music. I don’t know about performing it.”

“Whatever,” Mikey replied, sounding doubtful. “Maybe you can play with him.”

Patrick grimaced as he folded himself over his desk, propping his head up with one hand. “Maybe,” he mumbled. “I don’t know that he’d want me to do that. I’d probably bring him down.”

Mikey clicked his tongue. “You’re always selling yourself short.”

Patrick opened his mouth to object but stopped, realizing Mikey was right. “We’ll see how it goes,” he conceded. “I told him I’d play some of my songs for him sometime and he could play me some of his original stuff. Maybe if he thinks it’s okay, he’d want to collaborate.”

“That’d be awesome,” Mikey said happily. “And your stuff is more than okay. You’re amazing.” Patrick smiled at Mikey’s picture, feeling more relaxed at his assurances. The feeling was short lived, however, as he heard a noise on Mikey’s end. 

“Oh, shit, Gabe’s here. I’m going to go with him to get — well, it’s too late for breakfast, I guess. But we’re going out to get food,” Mikey said quickly. “Call me tonight? Or not. I’ll talk to you later.”

Patrick frowned, looking back to his computer where Gabe’s face loomed on screen. “I love you,” he said quietly before Mikey hung up.

That evening, Sisky leaned over Patrick’s shoulder to get a better look at his computer screen. “Who’s face are you adding devil horns to?” he asked.

Patrick’s eyes darted to Sisky and then back to the screen. “Oh. Gabe. The one that’s always around Mikey.” He pursed his lips and focused on making Gabe’s eyes glow red.

“He looks pretty friendly,” Sisky observed. He paused before adding, “Kind of like Brendon last night.”

Patrick furrowed his brow as he turned to watch Sisky shuffle away. “What do you mean by that?”

Sisky raised his arms in a helpless shrug as he looked back at Patrick. “Just an observation,” was all he said.

Whirling around in his chair, Patrick narrowed his eyes at his roommate. “That’s not the same thing. Brendon’s just a nice guy and a friend. Gabe is… Gabe’s always hanging off of Mikey and dragging him out and… And looking like that,” he said, jabbing a finger in the direction of his computer.

“Well, I don’t know about Gabe, but uh. Brendon might be your friend? But I think he’s interested in more than your friendship.”

Patrick could feel his face heating up as he stared at Sisky in disbelief. “What? No, he’s just like that. He’s a nice guy. I don’t even know if he’s _into_ guys,” Patrick added.

“Well, I don’t know if he’s into guys but I’m pretty sure he’s into _you_ , for what it’s worth.” Sisky gave him a “what can I do?” smile and shrugged again.

“You’re insane,” Patrick grumbled. He sighed and turned back to his computer and studiously avoided thinking about the way Brendon had looked at him the night before. 

***

Patrick brooded the next few days, the image of Gabe’s face burned into his eyelids, mocking him every time he laid down for sleep. After tossing and turning half the night and nearly oversleeping his Wednesday Sociology class, Patrick turned to his best friend for advice.

Pete had gone out to the west coast for school along with Ashlee, and between Pete’s busy social life and the time difference, most of their correspondence took place via email. Unable to shake the gnawing feeling that Gabe was making a play for Mikey, Patrick decided that this time, a phone call to Pete was in order.

“You need to go for a visit,” Pete said with certainty after Patrick had explained his dilemma. “Go out there and mark your territory.”

“Mark my territory? Like a dog?” Patrick slumped over his desk, sliding his fingers under his hat and through his hair.

“Well,you don’t have to _pee_ on him,” Pete added. “Unless”—there was a pause and Patrick could envision the devious grin that was undoubtedly spreading across Pete’s face— “you’re into that sort of thing.” 

“Really, Pete? Really?” Patrick asked, exasperated as he sat up, giving the wall the same glare he would have given Pete if he’d been in the same room. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just saying. If you’re worried that some other dude—“

“Gabe,” Patrick interjected.

“Gabe,” Pete repeated. “If you’re worried that Gabe is trying to swoop in and make off with your man? Make a fucking appearance so he knows you’re in it for the long haul, that Mikey’s not just sitting there ripe for the taking. And while you’re at it? Get yourself laid. You sound like you need it.”

Patrick groaned in response, covering his head with both hands. “Pete, he’s tall and chiseled and a lot better looking than me and everyone thinks he’s awesome and he has a single room—“

“Dude, did you just say chiseled?” Pete snorted. “What the fuck, Patrick? How many romance novels do they have you reading at that school?”

“Pete,” Patrick said in his warning voice.

“Okay, okay. First off, no one’s hotter than you are. Accept it. Second, Mikey’s in love with _you_. And he knew you were a little, squishy dude when he fell in love with you. So stop valuing the stuff that doesn’t matter and get out there and show Mikey the stuff that _does_ matter: You.”

***

That Friday, when Butcher stuck his head in the door to ask Patrick if he was planning on going out to pizza with the guys, Patrick was out of his seat and grabbing his coat before anyone had cause to wrestle him out of the room. He did enjoy the company of the guys he’d made friends with on their floor, and dinner at La Pizza House was always preferable to whatever the dorm was serving for dinner.

After devouring four large pizzas and several pitchers of beer (with Patrick demurring on the beer), the group was stumbling down the sidewalk back to campus. Patrick was laughing at the inane conversation taking place between some of the guys who had imbibed the most when Prince began to chime on his phone. Digging it out of his pocket, he realized how late it had gotten.

Sisky turned to look at Patrick as he dropped to the back of the group and Patrick waved him off, flipping his phone open to answer.

“Hey,” he said, a little out of breath from the brisk walk. “I didn’t realize it was so late already. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Mikey replied. “Where are you at? It sounds busy.”

Patrick slid the phone down to his neck and tugged Sisky’s jacket sleeve. “Go on without me. I’ll be to the room soon,” he told him before separating from the group to talk to his boyfriend. He found himself standing in the breezeway in front of a closed barber shop, taking shelter from the October wind.

Standing in the shadows with his back to the street, Patrick returned the phone to his ear. “I went out with some of the guys for dinner,” he explained. “We were just on our way back to the dorm. I guess I lost track of the time.”

There was silence on the other end before Mikey said sadly, “I wish I was there to go out with you, too.” 

Heaviness settled into Patrick’s chest as the full force of how much he missed Mikey hit him. He turned to lean back against the wall for support, the brick facade scratching his skin through his jacket as he took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself from the abrupt change in his mood. “Yeah,” he finally managed to choke out. “I want that. I miss you so much, Mikey.”

“It’s only been six weeks,” Mikey replied, sounding hopeless. “We’re not even halfway through the semester.”

“We will be. Just two more weeks and we’re halfway. And then it’s only a month ‘til Thanksgiving and then a few more weeks ‘til — Fuck.” He closed his eyes, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he thought about how unfair the situation was. “I’m coming to visit you,” he decided.

There was a pause for a beat before Mikey asked, “What?”

“I’m coming to visit you,” Patrick reiterated. “Next weekend. Fuck, it’s not that far of a drive. My last class finishes at noon. I’ll pack the night before and have all the stuff in my car ready to go before class so I can just take off right after. I’ll be there by dinner next Friday and I’ll stay ‘til Sunday afternoon.”

“But you have midterms,” Mikey reminded him. “Your performance piece—“

“I don’t care,” Patrick said, interrupting him. He laughed a little bitterly as he pushed himself off the wall and started pacing. “I’ll cram the night before or spend all next week studying. I’ll figure it out. I just need to see you.”

There was a hesitation again, but when Mikey asked, “Are you sure?” Patrick could tell he was smiling. 

Grinning, Patrick nodded to himself. “I’m positive.” He suddenly felt more at peace than he had in weeks and as he slowly meandered back to the dorm, Mikey excitedly talked about all the places and things and people he was going to introduce Patrick to the following week.

***  
The anticipation of his impending visit carried Patrick through the next week. He was aware that he was smiling stupidly as he sat through a lecture on gene abnormalities and that he had skipped a little as he walked to do his laundry in preparation for his trip. The feeling built all week until he found himself sitting in music theory, smiling at nothing.

“You seem happy,” Brendon observed as he slid into the seat next to Patrick, breaking into his train of thought.

Patrick turned to look at Brendon, still smiling. “Of course,” he said brightly. “I’m in music theory. What’s not to be happy about?”

Brendon smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it out. He gave a slight shrug, his eyes falling to the desk. “I don’t know. I’m always happy when I’m here, too. But sometimes there’s something to be extra happy about.” He glanced back up at Patrick and then looked back down to the desk top, his smile widening.

Patrick pushed back his chair, turning sideways to face Brendon, eyebrows raised. “Oh? Do you have something to be extra happy about?” 

With a light chuckle, Brendon shrugged again. “Maybe. It’s nothing big, but last night I got asked to play at The Daily Grind again this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Patrick replied, leaning in to clap a hand on Brendon’s shoulder and give it a squeeze. “I told you your last set was amazing.”

Brendon’s face was reddening as he bit his lip, nodding. His eyes darted back and forth between the table and Patrick’s face before saying, “I was thinking maybe this time I should have some percussion accompaniment.” His voice went up like he was asking a question and Patrick looked back at him, uncertain.

“Yeah, I mean, you were great on your own, but if you have some really beat-driven material or something that you want to play then, yeah, sure. You know, if you can find someone to play with you, I’d say go for it.” 

Brendon laughed and smiled at Patrick in a way that caused Patrick to blush. “I guess I was kind of asking you if you wanted to accompany me,” he explained. “But, you know, you don’t have to or anything.”

“ _Oh._ ” Patrick slapped his hand over his face and laughed helplessly. “Oh, god. I’m sorry, I’m kind of dense.” When he dropped his hand, Brendon was still smiling and looking at him expectantly. “Oh, shit. Did you say it was this weekend?” A small feeling of disappointment crept over him as a frown formed on his mouth. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m going to be out of town.” 

“It’s okay,” Brendon replied, although his smile faltered for a moment. “It was kind of last minute notice, anyway. Maybe another time.”

“I’d like that,” Patrick said honestly. “It’s just this weekend… Yeah, it’s not going to work out.”

“It’s no problem.” Brendon’s smile was stronger again, but Patrick noticed Brendon kept his eyes on his notes more during lecture than usual.

***

Any disappointment Patrick had felt about not being able to perform at the coffee shop that weekend was all but forgotten by the time his history class was letting out the next afternoon. They spent the period discussing music in the age of enlightenment, and even though the professor enthusiastically lectured on Bach’s use of supertonic chords, Patrick found himself eying the clock, counting the minutes until class let out. 

Once class was over, Patrick dashed out of the room to the parking lot, tossing his backpack into the backseat before typing out a quick text to let Mikey know he was on his way. The gas tank was already filled and Patrick’s bag was stowed safely in the trunk. He pulled out the google map he’d printed out and set the GPS function on his phone to navigate the drive.

The trip was long and the scenery was uninspiring, but Patrick tapped his thumbs on the wheel as he sang along to his iPod as the excitement of seeing Mikey carried him through the drive. He had to pull over once to use the restroom after guzzling down too much soda as part of an unnecessary attempt to keep himself caffeinated for the drive. By the time he had pulled into the parking lot next to Mikey’s dorm, Patrick felt like he was going to jump out of his skin.

Patrick took a deep breath as he climbed the stairs to Mikey’s floor, trying to calm the swarm of butterflies that filled his stomach. He made his way down the hallway, his eyes darting to the room numbers that adorned each door. Some of the doors were flung open and Patrick would look away as the occupants of the room gave him a curious look as he passed.

Counting down the hall, Patrick made out which room was Mikey’s room. The door was opened and he could hear loud voices inside. He tightened his grip on his duffle bag and adjusted it on his shoulder as he approached. Hearing Mikey’s laugh so close made his chest seize with want and he pushed away any feelings of trepidation as he stepped up to the doorway.

“Jesus, would you stop pacing? It’s making me nervous,” came a voice from inside. There were a handful of guys inside the room, most of them sitting on a futon or a window ledge. Mikey was standing in the middle of the room motioning helplessly with his arms, his hair flat ironed and hanging his face. Mikey was about to say something to the group when all eyes turned to focus on Patrick’s presence.

Patrick’s eyes widened and he forced himself to smile slightly under the watchful gaze of a room full of strangers. “Hi,” he said, giving a slight wave as he shifted his weight nervously from side to side. 

“Oh my god, you’re here!” Mikey half exclaimed, half laughed. He walked over to Patrick and took his hand, giving it a little squeeze as he led him into the room. “You should have told me when you got here. I would have met you down in the parking lot or at the front door or something!” 

“Surprise,” Patrick said with a nervous laugh. He bit his lip and cocked his head, looking between Mikey and the other guys in the room.

“Oh, sorry,” Mikey said in a rush before gesturing at the group seated there. “Uh, this is my roommate Adam,” he said, pointing to a guy with longer dark hair sitting on the futon. 

“Hey,” Adam said, raising a hand. 

“Uh, and next to him is Matt.” Matt gave a nod.

“And that’s Tyler,” Mikey said, pointing to the third guy on the futon. Tyler quirked his mouth halfway in response.

“And then,” Mikey continued, turning toward the two guys by the window. “Rob.”

“Hey, Patrick,” Rob greeted him and Patrick nodded in response, but his eyes kept darting over to the guy standing next to Rob, who Patrick recognized even without his Photoshopped “improvements.” 

“And that’s Gabe.” Mikey said it with an eye roll, but his mouth was curled up in a smile.

Gabe was regarding Patrick as he leaned back against the wall, one leg drawn up so his foot was resting flat against it. Upon being introduced, he pressed two fingers to his temple and then gave Patrick a little salute, his mouth wearing that same smirk it had in the picture with Mikey. “Yo,” he said as he pushed himself upright and sauntered over to Patrick, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you, Patrick. Heard a lot about you.”

Patrick tried not to recoil, but instead released Mikey’s hand to take Gabe’s, giving it a firm shake. “Gabe,” he said in a flat voice. “We talked once before.” Remembering what Pete had said, he immediately took Mikey’s hand again, giving it a squeeze. “You were trying to get Mikey to go out to a club with you,” he reminded Gabe.

“Oh, right!” Gabe laughed. “Yeah, I guess he wanted to be a good boy _that_ night.” He brought his hand down on Patrick’s shoulder, giving it a little shake. 

Patrick’s smile slipped as his hand darted to where Gabe was touching him. Before he could respond, Mikey pushed Gabe’s arm off. “Gabe,” he sighed. “He’s been here for two minutes. Do you have to act like a creep so soon? You’re going to scare him away.”

“What?” Gabe asked loudly, laughing as he held his hands up. “I gotta be true to my nature, Mikey.” He shoved his hands in his back pocket and then gave Patrick a wink.

Patrick looked away, opting to give Mikey a smile instead of throwing up on Gabe. “Nothing’s going to scare me away from you,” he assured his boyfriend before turning back to Gabe and giving him a smirk. Patrick was mentally patting himself on the back for playing it cool when Gabe, like the complete ass that he so obviously was, smirked back.

“Are we ready to eat?” Gabe asked the room as he stepped away, and everyone else got to their feet, nodding and mumbling in response.

“We’re going to all go out to dinner,” Mikey explained to Patrick, giving him an apologetic smile. “I didn’t want you to endure the dorm food here and everyone else offered to tag along.” His mouth quirked on the word “offered,” and Patrick understood that they’d invited themselves along.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Patrick agreed, sliding his bag off his shoulder and setting it on the floor.

Mikey leaned in to Patrick and said quietly, “Adam’s going to stay the weekend in Matt and Tyler’s room, though. So we can have some privacy.” He smiled down at Patrick as he pulled away and Patrick smiled back, feeling a little more comfortable.

They headed to dinner at an Italian restaurant where Gabe spoke loudly in an atrocious Italian accent for the first ten minutes. Mikey’s roommate and the rest of his friends seemed like nice enough guys, but Patrick didn’t pay them much mind, mostly because Gabe dominated most of the conversation. No one much seemed to care, except Patrick, who was careful not to wear his frustration on his face. He could see how people might find Gabe amusing, and Patrick could admit he might, too, if he though Gabe was harmless. But Gabe was sitting on the other side of Mikey and leaning in too close to say things in a low voice that made Mikey snicker. Or he’d steal food from Mikey’s plate and Mikey wouldn’t object. When Gabe put his hand on the back of Mikey’s neck in the middle of a story, he left it there for a full two minutes while Patrick stared daggers at him and Gabe didn’t so much as glance in Patrick’s direction to notice. It was infuriating.

For his part, Mikey didn’t seem to discourage Gabe, but he didn’t encourage him either. He’d reach under the table and put his hand on Patrick’s knee or hold Patrick’s hand or hook his foot around Patrick’s. And he still looked at Patrick like he thought he was as amazing as ever. It was the only thing that could account for the fact that Patrick didn’t leap out of his chair and stab Gabe with a fork in the middle of their meal.

“You’re quiet,” Mikey said softly as he leaned his head in close to Patrick’s.

Patrick’s eyes darted around the table, where everyone was laughing as they listened to Gabe tell a story about making out with a drag queen. “I’m okay,” he whispered back. “Just taking it all in. I’m just happy to be with you.”

Mikey smiled, rubbing his hand on the top of Patrick’s thigh. “I’m happy you’re here. We’ll be alone soon,” he promised.

“Thank god,” Patrick said under his breath as Mikey moved away to work on his meal.

After dinner, they returned to Mikey’s room where Adam collected a bag of his belongings before heading off to Matt and Tyler’s room. Getting rid of Gabe was more difficult. He lingered around, still talking, until Mikey tugged him toward the door.

“That’s nice,” Mikey said blankly when Gabe ended his story. “Talk to you later.” With that, he gave Gabe a firm push out the door and quickly closed it behind him, wedging his shoulder against it as he turned the lock.

“Hey! Mikeyway! That wasn’t very nice!” Gabe yelled from the other side, pounding his fist against the door. “You two are just horny bastards who want to have sex,” he accused, laughing maniacally. 

“Yes!” Patrick and Mikey yelled back in unison, before looking at each other and smiling. Patrick heard Gabe’s laughter trailing down the hall as he headed back to his room.

Once they were alone, Mikey threw his arms around Patrick, holding him close. “Sorry about all that,” he sighed, his breath hot on Patrick’s neck. “I’ve wanted to do this for the past two hours.”

“I’ve been wanting to do it for seven weeks,” Patrick replied, his hands moving up to cup Mikey’s face before leaning in to kiss him.

Patrick had been worried that it would be awkward, not having been with Mikey for so long, but as soon as their lips touched, his fears disappeared. It was like they hadn’t been apart for a day, their bodies still fitting together like they’d always had. Mikey was clutching Patrick’s shoulders, digging his fingers in like he was afraid Patrick would disappear and making soft needy sounds as Patrick kissed down the expanse of skin on his neck. 

Their clothes was shed before climbing under the blankets of Mikey’s bed. Patrick had wanted to go slow, to draw out their first time together again, but it was apparent neither of them were going to last long. They slid against each other, the rub of skin against skin causing sparks to shoot down Patrick’s spine as they kissed deep and dirty. Patrick only broke the kiss to reach one shaking hand down between them, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks to hold them together as they both thrust into his fist. He watched Mikey with his mouth wide open and eyes half closed, panting as their movements quickened.

“Mikey,” he whispered, the ache in his gut building. Mikey lifted his eyes to lock with Patrick’s and his jaw went slack as he sucked in a sharp breath. Patrick felt the heat over his hand as Mikey came and he didn’t last more than a couple thrusts before he, too, was coming.

After cleaning them both up and tossing the tissue in the trash, Patrick settled down on his side next to his boyfriend, one leg resting between both of Mikey’s as they basked in the afterglow. It was crowded with the two of them in a single bed, but Patrick liked being this close. He leaned his head against Mikey’s on the pillow and slowly traced designs over Mikey’s skin.

They stayed like that the rest of the night, naked and wrapped around each other, drifting in and out of sleep. During the awake times, they talked in low voices – how much they’d missed each other, how happy they were to be together – which eventually gave way to more kissing and touching. By morning, Patrick felt like he’d made up for the nearly two months they’d spent apart.

It was afternoon before either of them felt like breaking apart, the need for food overtaking the need for sex. They’d ignored the banging on the door, Gabe calling out to them to tell them to stop fucking and come to eat. Mikey had stopped Patrick before he could yell something rude in response, whispering that if Gabe knew they were in there, he’d never leave them alone.

Once they were finally dressed, they slipped out of the room and down to a nearby coffee shop for some much needed caffeine and pastries. They sipped their drinks and nibbled on their food as Mikey led Patrick around the campus, pointing out the buildings he had classes in and showing him the library that he had never used. “I think there’s books in there. I haven’t personally verified this fact,” he joked. 

The campus was much larger than Patrick’s school, about three times its size, and by the time they’d made their way across it, Patrick was starving again and his legs were tired. They stopped at the student union and refueled with a meal of fried food from a fast-food chain that was housed inside. Halfway through their meal, a guy set up a some mics near a stool to play guitar, and Patrick was reminded of Brendon’s set at The Daily Grind.

“Brendon’s playing this weekend,” Patrick remarked, and Mikey looked up from where he was dipping his French fries into a cup of ketchup.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, he asked me if I wanted to play with him but...” Patrick gave a shrug and took another bite of his burger. When he looked up, he noticed the expression on Mikey’s face was clouded.

“I’m sorry.” Mikey chewed his lip as he looked down at his food. “You could have— We could have done this next weekend instead.”

“No.” Patrick shook his head, reaching out to put his hand over Mikey’s. “No, I’d rather be here with you than anywhere.”

Mikey turned his hand over and wrapped his fingers around Patrick’s as he looked up, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Me too.”

***

They were curled up on the futon watching Night of the Living Dead when Gabe banged on their door again. “Come on, you fuckers have to be tired out by now.” 

Mikey gave a weary look at the door and sighed.

As if he could hear Mikey, Gabe added, “You promised you’d go out to Kroegger’s with me, Mikey. You promised.”

Mikey glanced over to Patrick and gave him an apologetic look.

“It’s okay,” Patrick assured him. “I don’t mind. We can go out tonight.” He wasn’t thrilled that Gabe would be tagging along with them, but after having spent the day with Mikey, he felt like he had a renewed patience for Gabe Saporta

Mikey gave Patrick an appreciative look before sauntering over to the door and pulling it open. Gabe was propped in the doorframe, sipping a bottle of beer. “Alright! Party’s started!” he crowed as he pushed his way into the room, thrusting another bottle of beer into Mikey’s hand.

“Here,” Gabe said, offering the bottle he’d been drinking from to Patrick.

“Uh, no thanks,” Patrick replied, trying his best not to look disgusted.

“No, dude, it’s cool. I don’t have any communicable diseases, I swear,” Gabe laughed. “I’m all about safety.” He did some bizarre dance that might have been a partnerless mambo, but Patrick couldn’t really tell. 

Patrick sighed. “No, I don’t drink,” he clarified.

Gabe stopped his dance, and stood straight up, looking nonplussed. “What, seriously?” he asked.

“Yeah. Seriously,” Patrick said slowly so that Gabe would understand.

Gabe turned to look between Patrick and Mikey and then snorted. “You guys are really going out?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, Gabe,” Mikey said, sounding somewhat irritated as he returned to sit next to Patrick. He took a swig of his beer and then leaned against Patrick for emphasis.

Gabe furrowed his brow. “Huh,” he said at last and then gave a shrug. “Whatever. More for me!” He drained the last of his bottle and then gave a satisfied sigh. “Alright, I’m going to get the vodka,” he announced, before leaving the room again.

Mikey frowned at Patrick. “Sorry,” he said again.

***

Kroegger’s, Patrick discovered, was a bar just off campus that Mikey and his friends frequented on the weekends. Patrick figured out the last part by himself when the bouncers waived them in without asking for ID and the bartenders served them drinks before they even ordered. 

Not that Gabe needed more to drink, by Patrick’s estimation. Patrick was a little amazed that Gabe was even standing upright, let alone able to walk a straight line. Really, the only effect the liquor seemingly had on him was to make him louder, which Patrick hadn’t thought possible. In order to be heard inside the bar, loud was definitely a good thing, though.

“So you must come here a lot?” Patrick asked, trying to yell over the drone of the crowd and the dance music that was pulsing the through the speaker.

“What?” Mikey yelled back.

“I said you must come here a lot,” Patrick reiterated. 

Mikey gave a noncommittal shrug and then held up his hand, tilting it from side to side to gesture ‘so-so.’ He took a sip on something red the bartender had pushed in front of him when they first came in.

“It seems like the people here know you,” he tried again, leaning in to yell in Mikey’s ear.

“Gabe,” Mikey yelled back. “Everyone knows Gabe. I just tag along.”

Patrick considered that as he shifted in the booth, looking over to where Gabe was standing in front of another booth and gesturing grandly. He stopped telling whatever story he was in the middle of when a brunette waitress walked up to the table, leaning over to put drinks in front of the patrons. Patrick watched Gabe step out of her way and then leer at her, which she pretended not to notice as she stepped past him, tucking her tray under her arm.

Gabe was still leering when she walked past the table Patrick and Mikey were sitting alone at. She stopped when she saw Mikey, smiling wide before bending down to give him a hug. 

“Victoria,” Mikey yelled as she stood up again. “This is Patrick.” Patrick gave a small smile and raised a hand. “He’s my boyfriend,” Mikey added. 

Victoria smiled back and opened her mouth to say something when Mikey tugged on her arm. She leaned down while he said something in her ear that Patrick couldn’t hear and then stood up again, grinning as she rolled her eyes dramatically. She looked back toward Gabe, who was still giving her a creepy stare and then looked back to Mikey, rolling her eyes once more before going on her way.

“What was that about?” Patrick yelled.

Mikey just shook his head and waived a hand, gesturing that it wasn’t worth trying to discuss over the noise.

Patrick sat back in his seat, sighing as he looked around the roomful of people he didn’t know. He was so engrossed in watching a couple making out on the dance floor that he didn’t notice Gabe was at their table until he heard his voice.

“Come on, Mikey,” he yelled, and Patrick turned to see Gabe tugging at Mikey’s hand. “Come dance with me. I wanna make everyone jealous.”

Patrick sat immobile as he watched the scene unfold, his heart pounding in his chest. Mikey’s face was impassive as Gabe repeatedly tugged at him. He took another sip of his drink and then slowly rose from his seat, his plastic cup still in his grasp as he followed Gabe to the dance floor.

Patrick’s skin got so hot he felt cold as he watched Mikey sway slightly from side to side in time with the music. But when Gabe slipped his hand around to the small of Mikey’s back and pressed Mikey close, grinding their hips together, the pounding of his heart in his chest quickened. He gripped the edge of the table, unable to move as he watched Mikey take sips of his drink as Gabe gyrated against him. Mikey just stood there, not moving away, not leaving the floor, not telling Gabe to stop.

The bar was too hot. The collar of Patrick’s shirt felt too tight. His face was flushed bright red under the darkened lights as he sat in horror, taking quick, short breaths. He wondered what Mikey was doing with Gabe when he wasn’t around to witness it. A sick feeling curled around his stomach as he envisioned Gabe pressing Mikey against a wall, pinning him in place as his lips skimmed over Mikey’s bare throat.

The memory of Brendon sitting at the coffee shop, his eyes closed and singing Blackbird flashed in Patrick’s mind, and he suddenly wished he was back at school now, sitting at that coffee shop and watching Brendon play instead of here at this shitty club, watching some asshole rub himself against his boyfriend. He grew bitterly angry, thinking about how if he’d stayed in town and gone to the coffee house, Brendon would have sat and listened attentively to Patrick prattle on about discordant harmonies, smiling in encouragement like Patrick was saying something brilliant. Brendon wouldn’t have dragged him to a bar to get it on with other guys while Patrick sat helplessly watching.

Patrick was jolted out of his thoughts as Gabe leaned in and said something to Mikey. Gabe’s mouth was next to Mikey’s cheek, near Mikey’s ear, his lip curled in that now-familiar smirk. Gabe adjusted his hand on Mikey’s back and then pulled him closer, a feat Patrick wouldn’t have thought possible until that moment. It was all too much, and before he could give it another though, Patrick was up and out of his seat, saying, “Fuck this,” to no one. 

His feet moved on their own accord, carrying him through the bar to the door and outside, where the cold air hit his face with a sting. Patrick stumbled down the sidewalk in the dark, his legs feeling disembodied like he was in a dream. He vaguely knew the way back to the dorm, but he didn’t have a key to the room to get his belongings. He had his phone and his wallet and his car keys, though, and if he could find the dorm, he could get his car and drive back to school. He didn’t need the change of clothes he’d left in Mikey’s room. He didn’t want anything that would remind him of that weekend, anyway. 

Patrick was halfway down the block when he heard Mikey calling after him. He didn’t turn around, just kept on at the same pace as his rapid breathing causing black dots to spot his vision. 

“Patrick!” Mikey called again, his voice closer now. Patrick could make out the fast fall of footsteps behind him, closer, louder. “Patrick, stop!” Mikey yelled as a hand fell on Patrick’s shoulder, jerking him back.

With all of the force he could muster, Patrick pulled his shoulder forward and out of Mikey’s grasp without so much as a glance back. “Fuck you,” was all he could say. He had meant for the words to be yelled, but they came out of his mouth quiet and cold and Patrick heard Mikey stop behind him as he continued down the street.

“Patrick,” Mikey said again, softer. His voice cracked as he choked on Patrick’s name. It made Patrick’s throat tight and he clenched his jaw, ignoring the warm sting he felt at the corner of his eyes. He told himself not to look back, to keep walking, but he turned back anyway to find Mikey standing still with his arms wrapped around himself, head bowed as he looked at the ground.

“What the fuck, Mikey?” he yelled as he whirled back around to face his boyfriend. “What the fuck?” he asked again, his voice weaker now. He managed a bitter laugh as he shook his head, not sure he could muster anything more intelligent.

From his position ten feet away, Mikey looked up at Patrick and sniffled, looking forlorn. Patrick’s heart ached with the knowledge he had caused Mikey to look that way, but he reminded himself that Mikey was the one who’d been on the dance floor with Gabe, passively allowing himself to be grinded on. “I’m sorry,” Mikey mouthed.

Patrick slid his fingers underneath his glasses, pressing his fingertips to his closed eyes, willing himself not to let hot tears spill. As he took deep, steadying breaths, he heard Mikey say, “I’m sorry,” closer now. 

Patrick dropped his hands to his sides and cleared his throat. “I want to go back,” he said to the sidewalk, his voice hoarse.

“You’re leaving?” Mikey asked, his voice high and strained.

Patrick shifted his weight from one foot to the other, steadfastly avoiding looking at Mikey as he tried to decide what he wanted. “To your room,” he decided finally.

“Okay,” Mikey said quietly.

They walked back to the door side by side, neither speaking, Patrick’s hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as he kept his eyes on the ground a few feet in front of him. He could feel Mikey looking over at him every few seconds, but he refused to look back.

When they got to the room, they changed into their night clothes and Patrick climbed onto Mikey’s bed, lying on his back as close to the wall as he could fit himself. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the futon?” Mikey asked. 

Patrick hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he whispered, his heart still beating heavy in his chest. He couldn’t look at his boyfriend yet, but when Mikey climbed in bed next to him and put his head on Patrick’s chest, Patrick instinctively wrapped his arm around Mikey, letting his hand soothingly run up and down Mikey’s back.

They spent the night lying together in silence. Patrick slept in short bursts, each time awakening from dreams where he saw Mikey and Gabe together in vivid detail. By morning, his stomach was full of acid and his eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. His head was pounding and cloudy, making him feel like nothing that had happened the night before was real.

Mikey sat on the bed and watched worriedly as Patrick collected his belongings and shoved them in his bag. The anger he’d felt the night before had subsided, but it was replaced with a feeling of heavy sadness and Patrick’s chest still ached whenever he thought about it, which was often.

Taking a seat next to Mikey, his bag at his feet as he held the shoulder strap in his hands, Patrick finally managed to speak. “Maybe we should see other people.” The words sounded foreign in his ears and he didn’t mean it, didn’t want to see other people, but if that’s where things were headed anyway, he figured he’d beat Mikey to the punch. 

Mikey looked away for a long moment, and Patrick could see his eyelashes brushing together as he blinked several times. “If you think so,” he replied at last.

Patrick wanted to say he didn’t think so, but Mikey wasn’t objecting to the idea, so he figured it was what he wanted anyway. “Yeah,” Patrick said, the word coming out mostly as air as he felt his world begin to fall down.

Mikey sat, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the same inch of sheet as he studied it. “Okay.”

“I’ll just go now,” Patrick added. “You don’t need to walk me out or anything. I’ll just…” The words caught in his throat, and Patrick looked away for a moment to compose himself. “Goodbye, Mikey,” he said softly before leaning in to hug him, letting himself take in a few deep breaths and memorizing the way Mikey smelled.

When he pulled away, Mikey’s hands lingered, sliding slowly off Patrick’s arms as Patrick got up before heading out of the room. He walked quickly to his car, telling himself to keep breathing. “Fuck!” he yelled after shutting his car door, his fist pounding into the dashboard. 

***

“Are you okay?” was the first thing Sisky asked when Patrick walked into their room. He didn’t need to look in the mirror to know his eyes were rimmed red and his face was set in a scowl. 

“No,” Patrick answered, not even attempting to lie as he chucked his bag and its contents to the back of his closet and shut the door. “We agreed to see other people.” 

Sisky was quiet for an uncharacteristically long period of time before replying. “Shit, Patrick. I’m really sorry.”

Patrick sunk down to his desk chair and looked at the picture of Mikey smiling back at him. He swallowed hard and blinked back the tears as he dropped the frame into one of his desk drawers and closed it.

***

Patrick didn’t hear from Mikey that night, or the next, or the next. He didn’t get a call or a text message or an email. He took it as a sign that things were really over and that Mikey was moving on.

He wished he felt the same way, but he couldn’t stop obsessing about it. He laid awake at night, reliving every awful moment of the weekend before; the way Gabe moved against Mikey, the cold chill that ran through him, the way Mikey looked at Patrick afterward. In any ordinary week, he would have been useless in class, but it was midterms. Patrick had tests and a performance and he couldn’t focus on anything. 

He was pretty sure he failed his sociology test. It was multiple choice, so there was a chance he had guessed right on half the questions, but Patrick found he couldn’t even bring himself to care what letter he was filling in on the ScanTron sheet.

His history midterm was better. There was an extra credit section on music and art history for the time periods they had covered, and he figured he’d made up some points there, so he might have pulled out a C or even a B.

Biology was a wash. Some of the information he could recall from high school, a lot of it he guessed on. Patrick told himself it didn’t matter, that he just needed to pass the semester so he didn’t have to retake any of his credits.

His major courses were the only ones that he cared about. He needed to get a B average in his major to get his degree, but if he wanted to go on to graduate school, he needed to get the best possible grades. Patrick was lucky that even thought he hadn’t studied and felt half dead, he could breeze through the test without much effort because the test was over concepts that were pretty basic to him. 

Brendon had noticed something was wrong with Patrick immediately, of course. He didn’t say anything, just bit his lip and looked at Patrick with concern. Patrick had forced a smile and asked Brendon how his set had gone the weekend before.

“Good,” Brendon said, more subdued than usual. “Everyone seemed to enjoy it. Too bad you couldn’t have been there,” he added after a pause.

Patrick pulled his hat down lower as he turned to face the front of the class. “I really wish I’d been there,” he said honestly.

“Next time,” Brendon said warmly, resting his hand on Patrick’s back for a moment, a comforting gesture. Patrick looked back and gave him the closest thing he’d managed to a real smile all week.

***

For his applied piano class, Patrick had to play a performance piece for his instructor and two other professors in the department. The piece had been assigned to him and it was more than challenging as he had been unaccustomed to playing classical piano. Given his lack of interest in anything, Patrick had neglected to rehearse as much as he should have that week. He found himself locked away in a piano room that Wednesday night, with a little over twelve hours before he was scheduled to play his piece.

As his fingers faltered on the keys once more, Patrick slammed his hands down, shutting the wooden cover over the keys. “Fuck!” he spat, before slumping down over the piano. After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts to find Brendon’s number.

When Brendon answered, Patrick didn’t even bother to identify himself. “I’m so screwed,” he moaned into the phone as he pulled his hat down to cover his face.

Brendon only asked, “What room are you in?” before assuring Patrick he’d be there in ten minutes. True to his word, Patrick heard the door to the practice room open behind him at the appointed time.

“That bad?” Brendon asked gently upon seeing Patrick sprawled over the top of the upright piano, resting his head on his folded arms.

“I hate my life,” Patrick groaned, meaning every word of it. He pushed himself up to a seated position again and looked back at Brendon through heavy eyelids.

“Aww, I bet it’s not that bad,” Brendon insisted, moving next to Patrick on the bench. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Patrick took a deep breath and then started in on the song at full speed, making it a mere eight bars before his fingers fumbled passage. He halted playing, lifting up his hat with one hand and running the fingers of his other hand through his hair, pulling at it as he drew in a slow, frustrated breath. 

“Okay, okay,” Brendon nodded. “Uh, try it again, but slower.”

Patrick sighed and tapped his foot at three - fourths speed before starting in again. He made it farther, but not by much before he got caught up on a tricky run of notes.

Brendon slipped off the bench and moved behind Patrick. “That’s a tough one,” he said, patiently. “Try it like this.” He leaned against Patrick’s back, placing his hands on either side of Patrick and played through the run effortlessly. “See how I did that?”

Patrick frowned down at Brendon’s hands. “No, wait. Can you do that again?”

“Here,” Brendon said, leaning his head over Patrick’s right shoulder so his voice was in Patrick’s ear. “Like this.” His fingers passed over the keys once more, slower this time, and Patrick watched the way his hands stretched to hit the notes, strong and sure. “See?”

“Yeah,” Patrick replied. “I just don’t think… I’m not going to be able to do this, Brendon.” He slumped his shoulders, angry at himself for putting everything off until the last minute.

“Sure you will,” Brendon said confidently. “Now come on.” He moved his hands over Patrick’s and set them in place. “Follow my hands.”

Brendon moved his fingers slowly over the keys with Patrick’s hands beneath them, mirroring him. They went over the passage again and again, each time a little bit faster until Brendon pulled his hands away and let Patrick do it on his own. “Yes!” he exclaimed as Patrick got it right once and then again. “See! You can totally do this!” He was still pressed up against Patrick and his breath was hot against Patrick’s neck. It was distracting, and Patrick found himself focusing more on it than on what he was playing, but he continued to make the notes fit.

They worked together over each section Patrick struggled with, Brendon showing Patrick how to play it and then helping his hands find the proper formation on the keys until Patrick got the hang of it. Occasionally, when Patrick got the hang of a particularly difficult stanza, Brendon would give him a light squeeze around the chest. Patrick knew the back of his neck was hot and flushed, and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious to Brendon.

After Patrick was able to play through the piece at full speed without any errors, Brendon pulled back and swung around to sit next to Patrick on the bench again. “There! I told you that you could do it,” he said, proud. 

Patrick ducked his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, well, only because you sat here with me forever, helping me,” he pointed out. “I totally should have called you earlier. I don’t know why I put it off until the last minute.” He sighed because he knew perfectly well why he had put off rehearsing, but he was in a pretty good mood for the first time since Saturday and he didn’t want to think about it.

Brendon reached behind Patrick to press his hand against the small of Patrick’s back. “Rough week?” he asked, giving Patrick a kind smile.

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, swallowing as he stared down at the piano and tried to will Mikey’s face out of his head. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brendon ran his hand in a small circle over Patrick’s back and Patrick unwittingly pushed against it, his back aching.

He raised his head and turned halfway to face Brendon, which brought them closer together. Patrick shook his head, giving Brendon a sad smile. “It doesn’t really matter anymore,” he decided.

Brendon sucked his lower lip into his mouth and then quickly licked his upper lip, his eyes moving between Patrick’s eyes and his mouth. Patrick’s stomach fluttered as he slowly moved forward without thought. He felt Brendon’s hand more firmly against his back, bringing them closer together when Patrick’s phone began playing Prince.

“Shit,” Patrick gasped jumping in his seat as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. For his part, Brendon let go of Patrick and scurried to his feet. 

“I should go,” he said, blushing furiously. “I, um. Good luck with your performance tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.” His eyes darted around the room for a second before he gave a quick wave, hurrying a “bye” before darting out the door.

Patrick’s heart was pounding like he’d run a race as he went to answer his phone, knowing it was Mikey on the other end. “Hello?” he managed, his voice cracking on the second syllable. 

There was a pause before Mikey said, “Hey. I wasn’t sure if we were still talking to each other. I can let you go if you’re busy or—“

“No,” Patrick stammered. “No, I’m. I’m just finishing up my practice for my piano midterm. It’s fine. I’m not busy.” He clutched his phone to his ear as his eyes closed, listening for any sound Mikey made.

“Oh, right, that’s tomorrow. Good luck or break a leg or whatever you’re supposed to say,” Mikey said quietly. 

There was a long silence and Patrick frowned, unsure what he was supposed to say or why Mikey was calling. He was both relieved and saddened to hear from Mikey, and part of him wanted to apologize to Mikey and part of him wanted Mikey to grovel and apologize to him.

“So, I guess that’s why I was calling,” Mikey said after a time. “I hadn’t heard from you and I didn’t know if we were just never going to speak again or…” His voice trailed off, but Patrick could hear him breathing heavy into the phone. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he finished.

Patrick frowned, wanting to ask, “Okay with what?” He wasn’t really okay at all or okay with anything that had happened. Instead, he answered with a curt, “Yep. I’m fine.” 

“Oh.” After another awkward silence, Mikey added, “Well, sorry to bother you.”

“No, it was— It’s fine to call me,” Patrick said in a rush, unable to hold back. He wanted to tell Mikey that he missed him, that he loved him, but instead he said, “It’s good to know you’re still alive.” 

That got a soft laugh in response, and Patrick wished that he’d felt at ease enough with Mikey to manage laughter. “Yep, still alive,” Mikey sighed. “The zombies haven’t eaten me. Yet.” 

“Yeah, well, so you say,” Patrick replied, his voice getting gentler. “Maybe they have and you’re not so much alive as undead.”

Mikey made a stupid zombie noise in response and Patrick let a laugh slip out in spite of himself. He took a breath and laughed harder, hearing Mikey join him on the other end. He felt a hitch in his breath as the relief of hearing from Mikey and a longing from missing him washed over him. Patrick laughed as a few tears fell down his cheek.

***

Patrick stayed on the phone with Mikey long enough that things started to feel somewhat normal. They weren’t, he knew, but it was good to hear Mikey’s voice. When he returned to his room, Patrick pulled up the picture of Gabe and Mikey together and forced himself to stare at it, like rubbing salt into a wound. He wanted it to hurt as much as it possibly could so that he wouldn’t have to ever feel that much pain at once again.

After managing a few hours of sleep, Patrick stumbled out of bed and hurried off to the music building so he could run through his performance piece a few more times to see that he remembered it. As he played through the rough spots, he recalled the feel of Brendon’s breath on his neck and he suppressed a shiver, trying to push the memory from his mind.

The actual recital took place on the auditorium stage in front of the three professors, each armed with a clipboard and pen to make notes about his performance. Patrick studiously kept his eyes on the sheet music as he played, trying to ignore the furious movement of pens over the score sheets. When he was finished, Patrick stood and listened to the each professor give him a critique of his performance. It hadn’t been flawless, but his applied piano instructor had told him she’d seen him make remarkable progress during the first half of the semester. They shared their thoughts on how he could improve for his final and Patrick was on his way.

As soon as he was out of the room, Patrick pulled his phone out and typed out a text to Brendon:

_Aced it._

It was less than two minutes later before “Don’t Stop Believing” rang on his phone and Patrick answered with a laugh.

“I fucking knew you could do it. Did I tell you that you could do it? I told you so. Who’s right? I’m right. I’m always right. And as a matter of record, I’m also an awesome piano tutor. Just so you know.”

“I knew that,” Patrick replied, smiling wide. “And I owe you, like, a billion times over by now.”

“Totally,” Brendon agreed. “And I’m going to make you pay up, but first: What are you doing to celebrate your smashing success?”

“Uh…” Patrick laughed and shrugged. “I don’t really have any plans, I guess. I’ll probably just go out with my roommate and the guys on my floor.”

“Well, there’s a house party tomorrow night,” Brendon told him. “This girl in my music history class and her roommates are throwing it. It’ll be a lot of music majors, I suspect, but if you want to bring your friends, they’re more than welcome to come.” He cleared his throat before adding, “And I’d love to see you.”

Patrick figured that if he was blushing, at least Brendon didn’t know. “Oh, yeah?” he asked. “I’ll definitely mention it and, um, try to make it.” 

“Well, I hope you do. I’ll email you the address and...” Brendon’s voice faded out, replaced with nervous laughter. “Yeah. So, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Patrick closed his phone and dropped it in his pocket, his stomach twisting.

***

When Patrick got back to his dorm room, there was an email from Brendon with the address of the party and a short note, saying it should be fun and that Brendon hoped to see him there. There was also an email from Mikey. Unlike his usual emails which tended to ramble on and include links to videos and websites he found amusing, this email consisted of one line: 

_Hope your performance went well._

Patrick blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. He hit ‘reply’ and typed:

_Yeah, it did._

Staring at the screen, he tried to figure out what the email meant. Mikey had remembered and must have cared enough to ask, but it was short and to the point and not at all what Patrick was accustomed to. Mikey had reached out to make the gesture, though, the first email he’s sent since Patrick’s visit. Patrick added: 

_I made a couple mistakes but they were minor, and my professor thinks I’ve improved a lot, so I feel good about it. Not much of a fan of performing alone in front of a small group like that, though. Unless you’re there, and then it feels easier._

He stopped and backspaced over the last line before continuing.

_I guess performance isn’t for me. Hope you survived your midterms. And any zombie attacks._

He considered adding, “Miss you,” but settled on just signing his name and sending it, ignoring the dull ache in his chest.

***

The Friday at the end of midterms was a busy time for the strip near campus. The bars were overflowing with students, packed in to blow off steam from a week of cramming for tests. Patrick and his group made their way over to La Pizza House again, since not everyone was of age to get into a bar. They could all go to the restaurant, however, even though it still served alcohol.

Patrick had told them about the house party. Sisky had raised his eyebrows when Patrick mentioned it was Brendon who had invited them, but thankfully had not commented on that fact. Since not everyone could get into the bars, they’d all agreed a house party would be a good option.

By the time the group had finished their food and drinks and navigated their way through the dark streets near campus to find the house, the party was in full-swing. The house had overflowed and people were milling around outside on the wrap-around porch, despite of the cool weather. 

They pushed their way in through the back door where someone was selling plastic cups for beer. Patrick separated from his group, slipping past the traffic jam of people pushing toward the keg for refills. He stepped into a larger room, where music was playing and people were pressed together dancing or hanging near the walls, engrossed in conversation. Pushing up on his toes, he tried to see over the sea of people, looking for a familiar head of dark hair.

Patrick stumbled through the room and into another, where people sat pressed together on couches and chairs, some sharing laps. Finding no sign of Brendon, he glanced up the stairs where people were loitering around seemed to be populating the upstairs rooms. He grimaced, trying to decide if he should make his way up there when Brendon rounded the banister at the top of the stairs, skipping down them, his eyes downcast as he watched his step. He wore a pair of dark, fitted jeans that showed the way the lean muscle of his legs flexed with each step and a red v-neck shirt that dipped low enough to reveal his collarbone. 

Patrick watched Brendon descend, balling his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and feeling ridiculous in his messy outfit when halfway down the staircase, Brendon’s foot skidded and he slipped down two stairs, his hand reaching for the banister to catch himself. Patrick clamped his hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t suppress a laugh as Brendon looked up, eyes wide. Noticing Patrick standing there watching, his face reddened, but a wide smile came over it anyway. 

“Patrick!” he exclaimed, bounding down the last few stairs and landing in front of Patrick. “You made it!”

Patrick reached up and dragged his fingers through the hair that hung out the back of his hat, nodding and smiling in return. “Yeah, we went out to eat first,” he said, looking toward the back of the house where he’d left his friends. “But, uh, yeah. It wasn’t too hard to find.” 

Brendon just stood there a minute, looking at him and still smiling and Patrick laughed again, suddenly feeling nervous. “Want to go outside?” Brendon asked, breaking the tension. “It’s quieter. Easier to talk.”

Nodding, Patrick headed out the front door and onto the porch, which was darker and less crowded. The music that was blaring inside only sounded in a dull thump through the walls, barely discernable over the low murmurs and occasional laughter that marked the conversations outside. They walked to the far end of the porch, sitting on the low brick wall that lined the perimeter of the porch as they talked about their classes and how midterms had gone, watching people walk out of the house for a cigarette before returning inside to refill their beer. 

“So,” Brendon began after a lull in their conversation. “I guess I’ve never asked you: Are you seeing anyone?” He was looking down at his legs, stretched out in front of him as he balanced on the edge of the porch.

Patrick opened his mouth to answer and then stopped, unsure what to say. “I was seeing someone when school started. But um. I guess that’s… I guess we agreed to see other people,” he replied. “He, uh. He goes to a different school, so.”

Brendon nodded, still looking down as he listened. “Yeah, that would be hard,” he said sympathetically. Glancing up at Patrick, Brendon offered a small smile.

“Um, how about you?” Patrick asked, feeling like he should. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Brendon laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. I’m definitely available.” Patrick felt like he should have a response to that, but he really didn’t, and they sat there in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. “And, wow, I really made things awkward, huh?” Brendon said after a time, laughing softly.

“No, no, no,” Patrick rushed to say, waiving his hand for emphasis. He paused for a moment before amending his answer. “Kinda,” he admitted, making Brendon laugh again, this time louder. 

They looked at each other, smiling, and Patrick felt like it was a moment where they should kiss. At least, if they were in a movie, Patrick thought this would be the scene where he – the protagonist – would lean in and kiss the handsome romantic interest. But something was keeping him grounded in his seat. Or not _something_ so much as _someone_. Patrick reminded himself that he and Mikey were over; the only problem was, he didn’t want them to be.

His face must have fallen as he thought about Mikey, because when Patrick’s attention snapped back to the present, Brendon was frowning at him. “You alright?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Patrick said with a sigh as he stood up, stretching his legs and creating some more space between Brendon and himself. “I just think too much sometimes.” 

Turning back around, Patrick noticed Brendon was rubbing his hands over his bare arms and rocking slightly back and forth. “Hey, you’re cold,” he noticed belatedly. “We should go back inside before you get sick or something.” He bit his lip and offered a hand to Brendon, who looked at it for a second before taking it, a smile spreading over his face once more.

Patrick led Brendon back inside, where the house was hot and noisy. He kept a hold of Brendon’s hand as he weaved between the crowds of people and when he shifted his palm against Brendon’s to adjust his grip, Brendon slid his fingers through Patrick’s. The gesture short-circuited Patrick’s brain and he realized he had no idea where he was leading them. He looked around for anyone he knew, but finding no one, turned back toward Brendon as they stood in the middle of the crowded room.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Patrick yelled, trying to be heard above the din. 

“You’re having fun!” Brendon replied, leaning in close to Patrick’s ear to be heard. Their fingers still entwined together as they stood with their clasped hands between them. 

“No, I mean—“ Patrick started to clarify when Brendon squeezed Patrick’s hand, bouncing a little. 

“Dance with me?” he interrupted, looking at Patrick like he was something special.

Patrick was ready to explain to Brendon that he didn’t dance when he noticed the soft look in Brendon’s eyes, hopeful and nervous. “Okay,” he relented, and was rewarded with another wide smile.

Patrick had a little experience slow dancing, but the music was too fast for that and most of the people in the room were dancing apart from each other, bouncing in time to the music. He watched Brendon begin to sway from side to side in time with the beat, stepping back a little to swing their hands between them. He raised his eyebrows as if to question if Patrick was going to join him.

With a shrug, Patrick followed suit, rolling his eyes in embarrassment as he moved slightly along with the music. It seemed to encourage Brendon, though, as he bounced more, moving his hips back and forth and biting his lower lip as he smiled at Patrick. He was obviously more confident in his moves than Patrick, who laughed and blushed and made faces in return.

As the song progressed, Patrick grew less self conscious and began making grander movements, half mocking the ritual and half enjoying it. Brendon laughed as Patrick did a little strut before making his face serious and imitating the move. Patrick found himself forgetting that other people were around and enjoying the freedom of moving to the music, the feeling he got from making Brendon laugh. 

After a few songs, the music slowed and Brendon gave a small shrug, as if to ask Patrick if he wanted to dance to it. Swallowing, Patrick stepped forward into Brendon’s space and put his hands on Brendon’s waist, while Brendon placed his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. Brendon grinned down at his feet for the first few measures as they swayed back and forth, before looking up and flashing Patrick another wide smile. 

Patrick’s heart was thumping against his ribs as a counter rhythm to the beat of the music. His stomach twisted as Brendon slid his hands up higher, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick slid his hands down from Brendon’s waist, his hands settling on the defined jut of Brendon’s hips, his fingers scratching light over the denim of Brendon’s jeans as they pulled each other closer.

He turned his head away as they moved back and forth, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor. He felt the heat of Brendon’s breath near his neck and the hair on his arms rose in response. Brendon tipped his head to the side, leaning it against Patrick’s. 

It occurred to Patrick that Brendon was roughly the same height as Mikey, and the dull ache in his chest returned. He remembered seeing Mikey dancing with Gabe, seeing Gabe lean in close to his ear and whisper to him, the way Mikey had let him, hadn’t tried to move away. Patrick wondered what Mikey would think if he saw him, not only letting Brendon dance with him, but pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick managed to choke out before releasing his grip on Brendon and stepping back. He stared at Brendon with sad eyes and shook his head. “I can’t,” he mouthed, before turning and battling his way through the crowd of people toward the front door. 

The heat of the house felt like it was swallowing him up and it was hard to breathe. Once he’d made it outside, Patrick grasped one of the pillars that lined the porch, steadying himself as he tried to catch his breath. Reaching into his pocket with a shaking hand, Patrick procured his phone, flipping it open and dialing Mikey’s number.

As it began to ring, he made his way down the front steps and began to head back to the dorm. He just needed to hear Mikey’s voice. He wanted to tell him he was an idiot, that he didn’t want Mikey to see anyone else, that he wanted Mikey to be his alone. 

The phone continued to beep in his ear without answer and Patrick cursed under his breath, lowering it to check the time. It was after midnight, and Patrick felt a panic run through him as he imagined where Mikey could be, who he could be with, and what he could be doing. 

Mikey’s voicemail picked up and Patrick hung up, not knowing what to say. He tried to tell himself that Mikey was probably just out at a club, unable to hear his phone over the noise. He hit redial, hoping that Mikey would have set his phone to vibrate and that maybe he’d notice. Again, it rang without answer until the voice message picked up.

“Shit,” he hissed as he kept walking at a quick pace, rubbing his forehead with his free hand as he tried to think. He decided to send Mikey a text message, figuring that even if he couldn’t hear his phone ring or a voicemail message, he would be able to see a text whenever he checked his phone next.

_Please call me. I need to talk to you. Its important._

“Please, please, please,” he whispered as he walked past the crowds of students gathered on the strip and spilling on to the streets. His thoughts were singularly focused on Mikey, and he didn’t notice as his shoulder crashed into people, too busy staring down at his phone and willing it to ring.

When he felt the vibration of his phone that proceeded a ring, Patrick didn’t hesitate before answering the call.

“Hello?” he asked, desperate and out of breath.

“Where did you go?” Sisky asked, the noise of the party audible in the background. “Brendon said you ran out of here a little bit ago.”

Patrick’s eyes fell closed in disappointment at hearing his roommate’s voice. He let out a breath, his hope crushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just needed to go. I just…” He shook his head as his words died out in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Sisky asked, alarmed. “Dude, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” Patrick lied. “I just need to be alone for a bit to figure something out, okay? I’m on my way back to the room. I’ll explain later.”

“Alright,” Sisky answered, sounding dubious. “If you need anything, you know how to find me.”

“Yeah, will do,” Patrick replied before ending the call. He looked at his phone one more time to make sure he hadn’t missed a text message before slipping his phone in his pocket again.

When Patrick returned to the room, he felt like a caged animal, and he paced the length of the room as he tried to figure out what to do. He needed to tell Mikey that he didn’t mean it when he said they should see other people. If Mikey still wanted to, Patrick would beg him for another chance. He just needed to remind Mikey how great they were together, how happy Patrick could make him. He could be a better boyfriend, he decided. He’d write letters and visit more. He’d remind Mikey how much he loved him.

Patrick checked his watch. It had been twenty-five minutes since his last call. “Fuck it,” he decided, pressing the send button to call once more. The phone rang over and over again and Patrick slumped his shoulders, feeling deflated.

There was a click on the line, followed by the sound of laughter. “Mikey?” Patrick asked, his heart pounding in his chest once more.

“Hello?” the voice slurred, followed by giggling.

“Who is this?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Is Mikey there?”

“Who is _this_?” the voice asked, and Patrick was struck by the sickening recognition that it was Gabe answering Mikey’s phone.

“This is Patrick. Where’s Mikey?” he demanded

“Who?” Gabe laughed.

“Patrick,” he shouted into the phone. “Where is Mikey?”

There was more laughter on the other end and then Gabe said in a customer-service voice, “I’m sorry. Mikey is unavailable at the moment.” Patrick could hear giggling in the background before the call ended.

Feeling the energy drain from his body, Patrick crossed over to his desk and sunk down to his chair. He dropped his head into his trembling hands, his chest feeling constricted as he tried to take deep breaths. He was too late. 

As he sat, immobile, he lost track of time. He zoned out, remembering when he met Mikey at the grocery store, the hours they’d spent in Mikey’s room playing video games, their first kiss. It was over now, and it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

Patrick was suddenly seized with an idea. He glanced at his clock, which read just after 1:00 a.m. He snatched his keys and phone and wallet before pulling the bag he still hadn’t unpacked from the back of his closet. He stopped long enough to scrawl out a messy note to Sisky, dropping it on his desk:

_Have to see Mikey. I’ll call you tomorrow._

Without another thought, he left.

***

Patrick should have been exhausted, he knew. He’d been awake for a full twenty-four hours and had spent one fourth of that time behind the wheel of a car. The only thing that was keeping him going was adrenaline and some coffee he’d mainlined at a rest area on the way. 

By the time he’d gotten to Mikey’s school, he felt completely disconnected from himself, having experienced every possible emotion on the drive. He’d had plenty of time to think on the trip, but he still had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. As he climbed the stairs of Mikey’s dorm, his heart was still pounding steadily and his stomach hurt from a combination of stress and caffeine and worry. 

His hand was still shaking as he raised it to knock on Mikey’s door, but he managed to rap his knuckles firmly. He steadied himself against the doorframe with one hand, head bowed as he waited for an answer. After a minute, he knocked again.

He could make out movement inside and then the sound of a deadbolt being turned. Patrick stepped back as the door opened and Adam came into view, his hair a mess and his eyes half opened. He blinked at Patrick in confusion and then looked back to the clock on the wall to confirm that it wasn’t yet 8 a.m.

“What’s going on?” he asked groggily.

“I need to see Mikey,” Patrick replied shifting his weight from side to side as he restrained his instinct to march into the room.

“Oh,” Adam said, looking down the hall and scratching his head. “I, uh. I think he stayed the night in Gabe’s room.” He looked back to Patrick, giving him an apologetic smile.

Patrick felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs and he managed a soft, “Oh,” before turning to head back the way he’d just came. “Sorry for waking you up,” he said dumbly, blinking furiously. He heard Adam closing the door behind him as he started down the hall back to the stairs.

He made it four steps and then slowed to a stop, rocking back and forth on his feet as he debated what to do. Whirling around, Patrick marched down the hall to the door he remembered was Gabe’s.

He didn’t pause before knocking, louder than he had on Mikey’s door. He bounced in place, clenching his jaw as he waited for an answer. The emotions of the past eight hours had built to the point Patrick felt like he was vibrating. After thirty seconds without an answer, he pounded his fist on the door four times, his lips pressed together in concentration, ready to hit Gabe when he answered the door.

When the door handle turned, Patrick was startled enough that he jumped back slightly. The door didn’t open, however, and a second later, Patrick heard the lock flip open. Slowly, the door swung open, and Patrick found Mikey standing before him, a blanket wrapped around himself as he stared at Patrick from behind his glasses with bleary eyes.

“Patrick?” Mikey asked as he blinked slowly. 

Looking past Mikey, Patrick could see the outline of Gabe lying in his bed, nothing but a sheet covering him as he slept. It was evident he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. He felt his heart hiccup in chest as he reeled back. 

“Oh god,” he whispered, turning helplessly from side to side as he tried to make out which exit was closest. 

“Patrick, what are you doing here?” Mikey asked, stepping into the hall after Patrick and pulling the door closed behind him. Patrick covered his head with his hands, unable to look at Mikey and unable to speak. “Patrick?” Mikey asked again, moving closer until his hands were encircling Patrick’s wrists, tugging on him gently to get his attention.

Mikey looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles hung beneath them. His nose was red and his lips were chapped. Patrick still wanted to kiss him.

“I missed you,” Patrick said, his voice cracking. “I wanted— I need to talk to you.” He swallowed and swayed a bit, feeling dizzy. He leaned back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, not having the energy to move. “I called you. I called a few times, actually, but…”

Mikey slowly lowered himself to the floor next to Patrick, staring at him in confusion. “You did?” he asked. He turned to look away, blinking. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything.” He sat quietly, the consternation evident in his face.

Patrick managed a bitter laugh. “Gabe answered,” he supplied. “So, yeah. I guess what I wanted to say won’t matter to you. You’re… You guys…” His words were strangled as his throat tightened, not wanting to think about Mikey and Gabe together.

“We what?” Mikey leaned forward to get a better look at Patrick’s face.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious,” Patrick spat back, shooting Mikey a look.

“Wait,” Mikey said at last. “You don’t think… Patrick.” Mikey slumped forward, tucking his knees up to his chest as he dropped his chin to rest on them. “I got drunk,” he explained. “I was upset about… I was upset and I drank and I don’t remember much after that. Gabe must have carried me back here or something. I don’t even know.”

Patrick furrowed his brow as he listened to Mikey. He didn’t appear to be lying, and the knot in Patrick’s stomach began to unravel. “But he answered your phone. There were definitely two voices laughing.”

Mikey raised his head, rubbing his head as he thought. His eyes closed after a moment. “Victoria,” he said, turning his head to look at Patrick. “I think Victoria was over. You remember, the waitress I introduced you to?”

Patrick thought a moment and then nodded. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Gabe’s been chasing her since the beginning of the year,” Mikey explained. “I think they finally hooked up last night.” He let out a humorless laugh. “While I was passed out in the same room, which is kinda gross.”

Patrick’s eyes widened as he tried to process the informatino. “I-- I thought you and he—“

Mikey snorted a laugh and then scowled, bringing his hand to his head like it hurt. “You thought me and Gabe? No.” He shook his head and then made an exaggerated shiver. “Oh, god, no.” 

“But he’s always all over you,” Patrick protested. “And the way he danced with you.”

“I told you Gabe has no boundaries,” Mikey replied, giving Patrick a hurt look. “And he does that shit to get attention. He was trying to get Victoria’s attention,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Patrick said quietly. “So you and he never—“

“Never,” Mikey answered firmly, shaking his head. “I don’t want him, Patrick. There’s only one person I want.” The corners of his mouth tugged down as he looked at Patrick with tired eyes. “I can’t believe you thought I’d do that to you,” he added.

Patrick’s felt his heart sink in his chest as he realized what a dick he’d been, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. “Mikey, I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out as he let his head fall back against the wall. “I thought he was after you. I thought you wanted to be with other people.”

Mikey shook his head, staring down at his knees. “I thought _you_ wanted to. You brought it up,” he reminded Patrick.

“Yeah, only because it seemed like... like...” He blinked as he tried to remember what he had been thinking, feeling foolish now that he looked back. “I was jealous,” he said simply. “I wasn’t here and he is. I just thought you’d want him.”

“Why?” Mikey asked, his voice raising slightly in frustration.

“Because,” Patrick mumbled. “He’s... he’s hot. He’s the center of attention. He...” Patrick’s voice began to shrink. “He’s taller than you,” he tried.

Mikey wearily raised one arm and gave Patrick a weak punch on the shoulder. “Shut up,” he sighed. “ _You’re_ hot. You make _me_ the center of attention. And I dig short guys, okay?” Mikey shook his head again, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Haven’t we gone over all of this before? I thought you understood.”

“We did go over it,” Patrick groaned. “I did understand.” He let out a breath, beginning to feel tired for the first time. “It’s just… I’m an idiot.”

Mikey scooted closer, huddling against Patrick as he leaned his head on Patrick’s shoulder. “You’re not an idiot,” he replied. “You should have just asked me. And trusted me.”

With the mention of trust, Patrick’s face reddened, remembering the night before with Brendon. “Mikey,” he began, his voice tentative. “I should tell you. I think Brendon’s interested in me. I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

Mikey was silent, still leaned against Patrick as he listened. Patrick swallowed and continued. “I get along with him really well and we like the same stuff, and if I wasn’t with you, I’d probably ask him out.” He looked over to Mikey, who remained still, his face not betraying any emotion.

“I didn’t do anything with him. I could have, I guess, this past week. I mean, I thought about it. But I didn’t. I just thought of you, and how much I love you.” He held his breath, waiting for Mikey to say something.

Finally, Mikey pushed himself upright again and turned to study Patrick. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to be with me, knowing that this is how it’s going to be? We’ll see each other a couple weekends a semester and during breaks and the rest of the time—“

“Yes,” Patrick interrupted. “Yes, I want that. I want you, even if I can’t be with you every day. It’s still better than being with anyone else. I got in my car and drove all night to tell you that.”

Mikey looked away, his eyes searching the wall as he mulled it over. “Okay,” he agreed at last. “Then let’s be together.” He let his hand slip out of the blanket and reached over to take Patrick’s.

***

Their first order of business was to eat. After having been up all night with only coffee in his stomach, once the fear he’d been experiencing subsided, Patrick found his stomach growling with hunger. Mikey was nursing a pretty serious hangover, so they drove off campus to a diner and wolfed down as much greasy breakfast food as their stomachs could hold.

Next on the agenda was sleep. Patrick insisted that he could stay up, that he wanted to make the most of his time with Mikey, but one stern look from his boyfriend shut him up. After eating, it was late enough in the morning that Adam was awake and heading out for breakfast. They climbed into Mikey’s bed and fell asleep, wrapped in a tight embrace.

By the time they woke up in late afternoon, Mikey was feeling more human. They talked about eating out at a nice restaurant, but settled on ordering in. Crowded together on the couch, they ate out of each other’s Chinese takeout container, laughing as they watched comedies they’d seen numerous times together already.

When Gabe barged into their room and draped himself over Mikey, snatching a bite of his eggroll, Patrick felt Mikey tense and turn to say something when Patrick reached over and squeezed his knee to stop him. 

“Gabe,” Patrick said loudly, cutting into Gabe’s rambling. He wiped his hand on his jeans before reaching across Mikey to extend it to Gabe. “Thanks for taking care of Mikey last night. I think I was kind of a dick last weekend, and I just wanted to apologize.”

Gabe accepted Patrick’s hand, but instead of giving it a shake, started performing some sort of secret handshake that Patrick faked and went along with. “It’s all good, bro. Everyone gets jealous, you’re not the first.” He bumped his fist against Patrick’s before sliding off the futon and crawling over to the other side. Gabe snaked his way over to Patrick and pressed up against him. “You don’t have to be jealous of Mikey, though. Next time I’ll dance with you. I give all the hot guys equal attention.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick groaned, leaning into Mikey and burrowing his head into his shirt as Gabe cackled behind him. “How do you put up with this all the time?” he asked Mikey.

“He wears you down,” Mikey answered, patting him on the head. “After he’s humped your leg a few times, it actually starts to seem normal.”

“Speaking of humping,” Gabe chimed in. “I told Lazarra he should spend the night at my place tonight so you two can, you know, get your freak on.” He gave them an over-exaggerated wink before untangling himself from Patrick and leaping up.

“You’re a good man, Gabe,” Patrick told him with a serious nod. “I appreciate you.”

After finishing dinner, they watched movies until late in the evening. By the end of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Mikey was curled around Patrick, his head leaning on Patrick’s shoulder as his hand drifted gently up and down Patrick’s stomach.

“Tired?” Patrick asked.

Mikey shook his head as he pushed himself up. Once standing, he turned to offer Patrick his hands. “Ready for bed,” he clarified, a small smile at play on his lips.

“ _Oh_ ” was all Patrick could manage as he took Mikey’s hands and let his boyfriend pull him up. “Oh, I see.” 

Releasing his hands, Mikey slid his arms around Patrick’s neck, pulling him forward into a kiss as Patrick held Mikey with one hand on his hip, the other cupping the side of his face. Mikey’s mouth was warm and familiar under his, and Patrick let out a content sigh. 

They turned slowly and Patrick carefully walked Mikey back to his bed as he their mouths worked together, the room silent except for the wet slide of their lips and tongues against each other. Mikey dropped his hands to Patrick’s shoulders, his fingers curling into Patrick’s shirt, twisting and turning the fabric like he wanted it out of the way, so Patrick pulled back and tossed his hat aside, tugging his shirt off his head and dropping it to the floor. 

Before he could get his glasses off, Mikey was flush against him, his mouth against Patrick’s neck, sucking hard at his skin to leave a mark as his hands ran up and down Patrick’s chest, soothingly. “What about you?” Patrick asked, pulling up on the hem of Mikey’s shirt, but Mikey batted his hand away.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmured, his lips still against Patrick’s throat. He sucked on the same spot, his hands trailing upward to cling to Patrick’s shoulders, holding him still. When he pulled off a moment later, his teeth dragged over the mark, and Patrick gasped at how sensitive his bruise was.

Mikey admired his mark for a moment before smiling. “There,” he said. “That should last at least a week.” He took his glasses off and set them on his desk before pulling his shirt off, revealing his wiry frame. “Your turn,” he said as he laid back on the bed.

“My turn?” Patrick wondered, climbing onto the bed after Mikey.

“Mmm,” Mikey nodded, turning his head to the side. “Go ahead, leave a mark. That way everyone will know I’m taken.”

Patrick laid down next to Mikey, his arm draped over Mikey’s stomach as he buried his head against Mikey’s neck and began to suck gently. 

“Harder,” Mikey urged, his voice coming out breathy as he arched up against Patrick’s mouth.

Patrick did as instructed and Mikey panted and writhed next to him. Letting his arm drop down lower, he felt Mikey’s cock pressed hard against the front of his pants and with one hand, Patrick began undoing his fly to free him. He wrapped his hand around Mikey’s cock and gave it a few loose strokes.

“Fuck, Patrick,” Mikey hisses, his hips pushing up against Patrick’s fist. Biting down, Patrick repeated what Mikey had done to him, pulling offer to see the red bloom against Mikey’s throat.

“Shit,” he said, staring at his handiwork. He was soon distracted by Mikey’s hands pulling at the waist of his jeans, trying to yank them down. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded, releasing Mikey from his grasp so he could undo his belt and fly and shove them clear down. 

As he kicked his pants and boxers to the floor, Mikey hooked his thumbs in his own tight jeans and wiggled out of them, pulling one leg out at a time. When he was finished, Mikey looked up at Patrick with glazed eyes, still breathing heavy. Patrick focused on his face for a moment before taking off his glasses and setting them on the floor next to the bed.

When Patrick moved up to the bed again, Mikey was thrusting lube into this hand. “Please,” he begged. “I want to feel close to you, please.”

Nodding, Patrick coated his fingers and reached between Mikey’s legs. He slid two fingers inside, easing in gently as he let Mikey adjust to the sensation. Mikey’s eyes fell closed and he took in a deep breath as he relaxed, Patrick’s fingers pushing in farther. 

“Good?” Patrick asked as he withdrew them before pushing in once again.

Mikey nodded. “Good,” he answered in a steady voice, his eyes still closed.

Patrick added a third finger, twisting his wrist as he pushed them deep. He kept his eyes focused on Mikey’s face, pausing with any twitch until Mikey assured him he was okay. They’d done this countless times, but every time Patrick was amazed Mikey let him. He knew Mikey enjoyed it; Patrick wouldn’t do it if he didn’t. But he couldn’t believe Mikey loved him enough to want to be that intimate with him.

“Patrick, please,” Mikey begged again, drawing his leg up. “I’m ready.”

Patrick stroked himself a few times with his lubed hand as he settled himself between Mikey’s legs, his other arm propping him up. Carefully, he guided himself as he pressed inside, feeling Mikey stretch around him. Once he was deep inside, he paused to let them both adjust to the sensation.

Mikey was breathing heavy underneath him, making desperate noises as he pulled at Patrick’s arms tugging him down closer. “Come here,” he pleaded.

Dropping to his forearm, Patrick lowered his mouth to Mikey’s, kissing him softly. Mikey’s mouth opened up beneath his, Mikey’s leg wrapping over Patrick’s to hold him close. His tongue brushed across Patrick’s lips as he dug his fingers into Patrick’s biceps. Mikey squeezed Patrick’s arms and released them alternately as he pulled Patrick toward him with his leg, causing Patrick to rock back and forth slightly.

Patrick picked up on the cue and began moving in and out of Mikey in slight increments, staying connected at the mouth. Even with the small movements, feeling Mikey around him tight and hot and hearing the soft moans he was making into Patrick’s mouth caused a heavy weight to settle into Patrick’s stomach. 

Mikey responded to the movement by pulling his leg tighter against Patrick’s, spurring him to move more. Patrick pulled back farther, breaking apart their kiss, and Mikey made a soft cry at the loss of contact. Reaching between them, Patrick took Mikey’s cock in his hand as he pushed himself up higher, pulling his knees forward. From that angle, he could move faster, farther. Mikey pulled his knees up, swinging his legs over Patrick’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he hissed, arching back against the mattress. “Right there, right there.” His eyes were closed and his jaw slack as he moaned out Patrick’s name, causing the tension in Patrick’s stomach to ratchet higher. 

“Mikey,” Patrick whispered. “Mikey, I love you,” he repeated louder and he felt Mikey’s cock twitch in his hand before Mikey was spilling over it. As Mikey clenched around Patrick, he whimpered and came, his hips snapping in quick, short movements.

When he was finished, Patrick lowered himself down on top of his boyfriend, still inside him as they laid together, catching their breaths. Mikey wrapped his arms around Patrick, his hands running through Patrick’s hair. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Patrick promised, nuzzling against Mikey’s neck. “Ever.”

***

The four weeks leading up to Thanksgiving went by easier than the eight weeks before that. It helped that Patrick was no longer paranoid about Gabe’s intentions and that he knew he’d be seeing Mikey soon. They also made a point of setting up a “date night” once a week, where they’d stay on the phone together while watching tv or a movie. Sometimes there wasn’t much conversation besides laughing or the off-hand comment, but it helped them to feel more connected.

The only unfortunate part of working things out with Mikey was telling Brendon. When he’d returned to school, Patrick had called and asked him out for coffee. Over sips of lattes, Patrick explained that he’d gotten back together with his boyfriend. Brendon looked disappointed, but managed a smile when he told Patrick he hoped everything worked out for them. Once they’d changed topics to writing music though, everything seemed to get back to normal between them.

Semester break meant four weeks home together, and Patrick and Mikey made the most of their time. They did their last minute Christmas shopping for family together and split Christmas celebrations between their families’ homes. They caught a half-dozen movies together and caught up on playing video games together. They also managed to spend a good amount of time hanging out with their high school friends, even double dating with Pete and Ashlee a few times.

“So everything worked out,” Pete observed when they found themselves alone together. 

Patrick nodded, looking in the direction Mikey had gone with Ashlee to get buy drinks at the theater. “Yeah, it wasn’t too good for a while, but we worked it out.” Pete sat there giving Patrick his shit-eating grin for so long that Patrick rolled his eyes and asked, “What?”

“Did you pee on him?” Pete asked, grinning wider.

Patrick was in a good enough mood that he only half-heartedly punched Pete in the arm when he didn’t move out of the way fast enough.

“Is everything okay?” Mikey asked as he and Ashlee rejoined them, Pete still cracking up.

Patrick gave Mikey a long look before smiling and nodding. “Yeah,” he replied. “It is now.”


End file.
